A Taste of Disaster
by Nili
Summary: Elrond is fed up with all the catastrophes and has come up with a solution. It does not really work, and so the next kidnapping is inevitable. Now Elrond is annoyed, Aragorn and Legolas are bored – and the kidnappers quickly see that they made a mistake.
1. A Common Calamity

**A/N: **

Hi everybody!

I am posting this from Portugal, where I am visiting my mother who has gone away on business and has left me with her garden (about five thousand square metres, give or take five hundred) and our zoo. It's very nice and hot and also very nice to see all the cats and our dog again, so I am spending a few very lazy weeks here. I am flying back to Madrid on Thursday, though. •unhappy frown• I really don't want to.

Anyway, here is the little story I promised Jack. I can't actually remember if it was a birthday present or a little something for Easter; all I know is that it's about a year overdue. Sorry, Jack, I did this as fast as I could! Anyway, it's not only her story, it's also partly her idea, so it's not entirely my fault. I don't really know how all this came to pass - let's just agree that it's a mystery for the ages and leave it at that. •g•

This is a humourous story and somewhat of a parody, so please do not take it seriously! It's just a bit of fun and there will be no torture or angst (not for our heroes at least). Sorry, guys, but you'll have to wait for the next big story for that. This story here will have only three chapters and I will try to post them as quickly as possible. I am going back to Madrid on Thursday and flying back home on Tuesday next week (for good, I'm afraid), so everything will be chaotic till university starts in October and I find a flat. Still, I will try to post the next part in a week or maybe sometime this weekend. I will do my best, I can promise you that!

All right, enough of this and on to the story! Jack, I hope you will enjoy this! •hugs•

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**A Taste of Disaster**

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**By: **Nili

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**Rating:** PG. Or K+ or whatever it's called here. Yes, it has happened, I wrote something with a different rating than PG-13! Yay me! •g•

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**Spoilers: **Good question, actually. Since this is a very different kind of story, at least for me, I have really no idea. It is loosely - very loosely! - connected to my other stories, so I guess there are some tiny spoilers for some of my stories in here, most likely for "An Eye For An Eye", "To Walk In Night" and "A Sea of Troubles". Oh, and also for "Everlasting". There might be some others, though, even though - since this isn't exactly to be taken seriously - they would be really small, so don't worry about that. There are probably also some spoilers for "The Fellowship of the Ring" and "The Hobbit", but nothing more than the usual.

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**Disclaimer:** I own nothing in Middle-earth (or in Valinor, for that matter), to my never-ending regret. Any recognisable character, setting, place, event and so on belongs to J.R.R. Tolkien and his heirs. I do not have anyone's permission to use any of the above, but I do so anyway. Not very nice of me, I know. The rest, however (places, characters etc.) belongs to me, so please don't kidnap any of my characters. They might be rather happy to get away from me, but I wouldn't like it all that much. Besides, my alter ego would have a fit! And, finally, this story was written just for fun, and I will most certainly not receive any money for it. It would be a wonderful way to earn my living, but you can't have everything, I guess, least of all vast sums of money. Please do not use any of my original characters without asking me first, even though I haven't got the slightest idea why anybody would want to use anything of this story. Thank you.

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**Summary:** It had to happen sooner or later: Elrond, prompted by the reckless and dangerous usage of his healing supplies, has snapped and decided that enough is enough. His solution to the problem, however, falls victim to the fact that nothing ever goes according to plan in Rivendell, especially when a certain elf and ranger do things because they "sounded like a good idea". Aragorn and Legolas are bored, Elladan and Elrohir are annoyed, Elrond is reaching the end of his patience, and Erestor, Glorfindel and the rest of Rivendell are treading very, very carefully. And the hired henchmen realise that they should have asked just whom they were to kidnap.

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**Series:** This story is ... well, yes, I guess you could say that it is part of my nameless mini-series. Not really, of course, since this story is not to be taken seriously by anybody! If someone should do so, I am in no way responsible for the outcome or consequences. Still, so this latest proof of me being as mad as a hatter is part of my series; the others are (in chronological order)

**Straight Paths  
Everlasting  
An Eye For An Eye  
The Heart of Men  
To Walk In Night  
&  
A Sea of Troubles**

Where exactly it fits in, I have no idea. It's a parody, people, so let's just assume it's an AU which describes just how 24 hours could be in the lives of our favourite ranger and elf. Therefore, it would take place in an AU version of my "normal" timeline, meaning sometime during the summer of III, 2954 or maybe III, 2955. It's not to be taken seriously anyway, though, so don't you mind that for once and just read on. •g•

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**Additional Notes:** I wish to seize this chance to publicly declare that none of this is my fault. Jack and I were jokingly talking about just how impossible it would be for anyone - elf or not - to survive what I keep putting them through on a regular basis, we talked about some of the more ridiculous fanfics out there (Aragorn/Legolas/whoever undergoes horrible torture and is right as rain the next morning), one thing led to another and, voilà, this story was born, which I now officially give to Jack as a gift. You see what you can do with it, girl. •g•  
Essencially, it's an attempt at a humourous story/parody, both of my own stories and several popular clichés that exist in LotR fanfiction. Let's just say that I was in a weird mood and leave it at that, 'k? Because I sure as He•• don't know how to explain this.

Still, universe-like: A long time ago I decided to follow Cassia and Sio's lead and pretend that Gilraen was killed with Arathorn, something that I sometimes regret by now since I try to stick as closely to canon as I can. It wasn't because I don't like her though, no; I started this way because it was easiest. I still think it's hard to integrate her into Rivendell-life realistically, and she's such a complex character that I only now feel confident enough to have a go at writing her. Now it's too late, though. •g• I hope you - and her - will forgive me for this not so little detail.

Because of this - but more because this is a **Humourous Story** - this is an **AU**. It is not meant seriously and never was; I am poking fun at LotR fanfics in general and probably my fics in particular. While I usually try to make my characters sound faintly Tolkienesque (or at least try not to make them sound as if they just walked into the story from the nearest pub), I kind of disregarded this here. I hope they still don't sound completely "modern", but it's - due to the nature of the story - probably more noticeable than before.

A small note concerning the Elvish used in this story, or, more specifically, the Sindarin: I am a follower of the "mellon nín" variety. If you like the undoubtedly equally correct "mellonen" better, bear with me. As far as I know, you can use both versions. And, last but not least: It is no secret that English is not my first language. It is, in fact, my third, but that's beside the point. •g• So please, let me know when you find a blatant and horrible mistake somewhere. You will, trust me, especially this time - humour can be tricky. Some of them always manage to sneak their way into my stories no matter how hard I try. Pointing them out to me doesn't bother me at all and really helps to improve my English. Thank you!

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Chapter 1

It was a beautiful day. The sky was of a deep, azure blue colour, there were no clouds in sight, the sun was shining and the birds were singing. All of Rivendell was bathed in the brilliant morning light, and the elves that had nothing better to do (which accounted for quite a few) were strolling through the gardens and were taking walks down to the Bruinen with their friends and family.

So, it was indeed a beautiful day, Elrond decided, that was something no one in their right mind could or would have contested.

Unfortunately, he was _not_ in his right mind at the moment.

The half-elf scowled at the far too bright and happy valley that spread out beneath him and turned away from the window in a very abrupt and uncharacteristic manner. He thought about taking up pacing once more, but quickly decided against it. It wouldn't help, that much was sure, and he wasn't ready to be seen by somebody who would inevitably tell Glorfindel. He had stopped wondering a long time ago why Glorfindel was behaving like his mother or why he actually let the golden-haired elf get away with that kind of attitude. It only gave him a headache.

And somebody would see him, too. Sometimes he had the feeling that there were far too many unemployed elves walking through the corridors of his home. He couldn't even remember where they had all come from; Valar, he couldn't even remember most of their names. Being surrounded by far too many strange people all the time was something that could drive even one of the Wise to distraction.

Elrond thought about that for a while and then shook his head in disgust. Being one of the Wise wasn't all that great a thing anyway; one just had to look at his "colleagues". He guessed that most of them were unable to even tie their own shoelaces, let alone determine the fate of Middle-earth. His parents-in-law were all right, he guessed, Galadriel in a rather creepy way at that, and Celeborn was … well, a Sinda. That was all that could be said about that. Mithrandir was indeed wise – if he hadn't been at the Halflings' weed again. But, Elbereth be his witness, no one should even get him started on Curunír. He simply couldn't stand the White Wizard, and he had the very distinct impression that the dislike was mutual.

These thoughts only served to turn his already dark mood positively black, and he ground his teeth firmly. He had enough of all this. He was one of the Wise and he would not put up with it any longer, and that was that.

"My lord?" A tentative voice behind him asked, and Elrond whirled around, once again gritting his teeth, this time in order not to snap at the young elf that had addressed him.

It didn't help at all, of course. The dark-haired elf was shrinking back as if Elrond had turned into a cave troll. He even began to tremble slightly, and Elrond absent-mindedly gave him extra points for that.

"Yes?" he asked, trying to sound as harmless as possible. "What is it?"

The other elf looked clearly unconvinced, but he bravely stretched out an arm and presented his lord with several pieces of paper and a quill whose tip was wet with dark ink. The tremors had mostly stopped. Elrond decided darkly that he must be losing his touch.

"The human traders are here, my lord. You … you need to sign this."

Elrond contemplated asking what 'this' was for a moment, but quickly decided that he didn't care. That was one of the reasons why he had subordinates, after all – perhaps it was quite useful having all these strange elves around. The ones in charge of the warehouses would know what they needed, wouldn't they?

The half-elf was quite happy in that knowledge until he remembered the last time, when somebody had ordered three barrels of brown dye. He was still firmly convinced that it had been Prince Legolas; who else but a wood-elf would even consider a colour like that? Elrond thought about going down to the warehouses to make sure everything was in order, but then he decided that he had better and more important things to do.

Grasping the offered quill with quite a bit more force than necessary, he began to sign the documents. He didn't even notice that he was mumbling under his breath while he was stabbing the quill at the parchment, but when he looked up, the young messenger had backed away as far as courtesy allowed him and was watching him out of wide, rather scared eyes.

Elrond decided to placate him with a smile, which only seemed to have adverse effects. If anything, the younger elf looked even more scared now.  
"Is there anything else?"

The other elf looked at him as if he had spoken these last words in the Black Tongue, but finally he began to shake his head frantically.  
"No, my lord, no." Elrond didn't avert his eyes and only kept looking at him, and so the young elf added, looking as if he was asking this against his better judgement, "It's just that … are you all right, my lord?"

That was quite clearly something that he shouldn't have asked. Elrond's face darkened even more, and there came a bright light into his eyes that did not look healthy at all.  
"All right?" the half-elven healer exclaimed, not even noticing that he was waving his quill in a rather unstable-looking manner. "All right?" He stared at the younger elf as if he had committed some sort of horrible crime. "What do _you_ think?"

The younger elf quite clearly thought that his lord had taken leave of his senses, but was too well-educated to actually say it.  
"I … I do not…"

"Let me ask you a question," the wild-eyed Lord of Rivendell went on, still waving the quill around in a manner that looked disconcerting at best and dangerous at worst. "Would _you_ be all right if you had seen all the things I have seen over the past few years?"

That was a trick question, the young elf thought frantically. He just _knew_ it was a trick question. Lord Elrond had been behaving very strangely lately, and had developed a worrying and highly annoying liking for asking these horrible rhetorical questions that you just couldn't answer correctly.  
"Uhm, I would say that…"

"No, you wouldn't be," Elrond answered his own question. "Nobody would be, at least nobody who is still in possession of his mental faculties. Mind you, sometimes I have the feeling that those who do have already left Rivendell far behind and are sitting somewhere on the shore of the Undying Lands, sipping their wine and laughing at me."

The younger elf would clearly have liked to protest, but he either couldn't bring himself to lie or was too scared by the strange glint in his lord's eyes.  
"I do not think that anybody…"

Elrond cut him off again, and the other elf dimly wondered if he would ever finish a sentence in this conversation again. Or ever, period. The dark-haired healer returned his attention to the papers he was still holding, once again beginning to paint dark letters onto the parchment with angry, stabbing movements.

"I will not tolerate this behaviour any longer. _I_ am the lord of this place, and I will _not_ allow a group of younglings to dictate my behaviour."

The younger elf decided quite correctly that the only way of action was agreeing with everything Lord Elrond said. Valar, he would be agreeing to almost anything at this point if Lord Elrond just stopped looking at him like that, namely as if he wanted to rip off his head at the shoulders.

"Yes, my lord."

Elrond went on as if he hadn't heard him, which he probably hadn't.  
"And if anybody calls Glorfindel, I will have them drawn and quartered. And Glorfindel too, perhaps." The half-elf smiled in a manner that would have made most people shrink back. Things being as they were, the young elf was already too terrified to react much and only gritted his teeth. "We should do that more often anyway. It would lighten things up a lot around here."

"Yes, my lord." A part of the younger elf actually happened to agree with that, and besides, he was not Lord Glorfindel. He was not related to him, he was not a friend of his, and he was not looking like him. There was no way he could be coonnected to the golden-haired elf in any way, so he should be safe.

'Should be' being the operative words; Lord Elrond had been behaving very strangely lately, after all.

Elrond signed the last of the documents with a flourish, apparently somewhat cheered up by his bloodthirsty thoughts, and raised his eyes to meet the other elf's wide ones.  
"Or we could try something a bit more traditional. What about public hangings?"

"A good idea, my lord."

"Yes, I think so, too," Elrond agreed readily and handed the documents back to the younger elf. A young elven couple walked past them, inclining their heads in greeting before they went back to gazing adoringly at each other, and so much unbridled sickly-sweet happiness was enough to bring back the elf lord's dark mood. "Have you seen my sons, _pen-neth_?"

The elf didn't really know what a negative answer would lead to, but he was rather sure that he didn't want to find out.  
"I … I think they are in the Hall of Fire, my lord," he said.

He hadn't thought that the half-elf's smile could get any bigger and more disconcerting, but now he was quickly proven wrong. For a moment, he actually saw why some of Rivendell's inhabitants upheld the theory that Lord Elrond was actually part warg. When he smiled at you like that, anybody would be willing to swear that there was truth to that. Or maybe he was indeed – as was theorised by others – somehow related to the Dark Lord. With his mixed heritage, who knew. A Maia was a Maia, after all.

"Very good," Lord Elrond said somewhat gleefully, oblivious to the other's thoughts, which was probably a rather good thing. He was not really in the mood for anything but instant agreement. "They will never see this coming."

The messenger was contemplating asking about what he was talking about, but quickly decided otherwise. Firstly, he didn't really want to know, and secondly, he would be damned if he got into the middle of this. Before Lord Elrond could notice his silence, he quickly reassumed his grin-and-nod attitude.

"No, my lord."

If Elrond noticed the not very genuine way in which the words were spoken, he did not comment on it. He simply nodded, preoccupied, and half turned around before he seemed to remember something and stopped in mid-motion.  
"Have you seen Lord Erestor?"

The younger elf only stared at him for a moment, clearly asking himself just when he had turned into a walking encyclopaedia and why his lord wanted to know that and then just as clearly deciding that, again, he didn't want to know. Even Elrond, in his preoccupied state, could see that the other elf was already half-planning his trip to the Grey Havens.

"I do not know for sure, my lord, but I think he was in the council chambers, discussing something with some of the secretaries. I saw him when I walked here."

Elrond nodded curtly, clearly already almost having forgotten about the other elf's presence. The smile was still on his face, and he was rubbing his hands in a manner that reminded the younger elf of a scheming dwarf. He would have rather died than share that comparison with anybody, least of all the elf standing in front of him.

"Good," Elrond said, interrupting the younger elf's thoughts. "Very good. If he is tormenting the secretaries about one thing or other, he will still be there. He enjoys these things, after all. I will go and fetch him, and then I will put an end to all this." He turned and looked at the younger elf, his eyes narrowing, and added, "Once and for all."

He turned and walked away, leaving behind a thoroughly flummoxed young elf. The half-elf didn't even notice that he was still rubbing his hands, mumbling something under his breath as he hurried towards the council chambers. The younger elf looked after him for a moment, the documents still clutched in his hands, and only when the tall, dark-haired figure had disappeared around a corner did he blink, shake his head and return to the present.

Packing was overrated, he decided calmly as he walked back towards the warehouses. He would grab an extra cloak, a blanket and a few supplies, say good-bye to his friends and leave. He had no idea what was going on here or what would happen, but he knew how this was going to end. This was Rivendell, after all, and things always ended in blood, death or mayhem.

He had no idea what Lord Elrond's solution was, but he knew that he wanted to be far, far away from here when his sons heard about it.

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"What?"

From where he was sitting, in his chair behind his desk in his study, Elrond had an excellent view of the entire room. In front of the desk his three sons were standing in a line like three chickens sitting on a pole, expressions of equal loathing and disbelief on their faces. Behind them, Prince Legolas was keeping a respectful distance, quite clearly trying to keep out of this. He was his father's son, Elrond thought absent-mindedly. One could say a lot of things about King Thranduil, but he most certainly wasn't stupid.

The half-elf studied the three – no, four, Prince Legolas' Thranduilesque mask was slipping – indignant faces in front of him and could hardly keep a satisfied grin off his face. Oh, this was even better than he had anticipated.

"You heard me, Elladan," he said in his coolest, most reasonable voice. He looked from his oldest son to his youngest and then to Elrohir, the grin once again threatening to appear on his face. "All of you heard me. No more hunting trips."

"Forgive me, _ada_," Elrohir spoke up, ever the diplomat. "But I could have sworn you said 'No more hunting trips'. There must be something wrong with my ears."

Elrond, however, was immune to that kind of sarcasm. He had been living in one house with Glorfindel and Erestor for quite a while, after all. Speaking of which… The half-elf turned to the left to give his chief councillor a quick look. Erestor was sitting in an armchair, a long piece of parchment on his knees, and was looking bored out of his skull. It was clear that he considered all this below him, but even he had known better than to protest when his lord and friend had stormed into the council chambers and had all but dragged him into his study. When Elrond smiled at you like that, you simply did not ask questions or, Valar forbid, disagree.

"If that is so, you are very welcome to come to the healing chambers and have them checked out," Elrond told the twin with a smile. It wasn't a nice smile, either. "But my word stands. There will be no more hunting trips, or if there are, you four are not to be a part of them."

"But … but why?" That was Aragorn, sounding as if he had just found out that his father had been replaced by an orc with an ill-fitting paper mask.

Elrond's smile broadened.  
"Erestor, if you would."

The dark-haired elf looked up, for the first time truly paying attention to his surroundings, quite clearly resisted the urge to roll his eyes and then fixed the same on the list.

"Four months ago, a hunting trip ended with an encounter with orcs and a subsequent skirmish. Elrohir, Estel and Prince Legolas were wounded, Elrohir seriously, together with three other warriors."

"Seriously?" Elrohir asked. "It was a broken arm."

"It was a shattered shoulder," Elrond corrected him. "You almost lost the arm."

"Three months ago," Erestor went on, one long index finger tapping on a point of the parchment that was disconcertingly high up the list, "you ran into wolves. This time Elladan almost lost a … well, a certain part of his anatomy."

Aragorn chortled, ignoring the icy glare his oldest brother shot him.  
"A nice way of putting it, my lord. It was…"

"Yes, Estel," Elladan interrupted him sharply, glaring daggers at his sniggering brothers. "We all know which part it was."

"Ten weeks ago, you didn't make it very far. You," Erestor narrowed his eyes at the list, clearly not being able to remember that particular event, "you fell down a mountainside and spent the next two weeks in the healing wing."

"Hillside," Legolas corrected automatically. "It was a hillside. And not even a particularly high one."

"I've seen higher ones," Elladan agreed.

"That is sad for you and completely uninteresting for me, Elladan," Erestor said, not even looking up from his list. "After that, eight weeks ago, you went on another hunting trip and were promptly kidnapped by yet another evil maniac." He looked up, grey eyes faintly amused. "I have been meaning to congratulate you on that. It was the third one this year, if you count that botched attempt back in March."

"It wasn't your stereotypical evil maniac," Aragorn said. "He was actually a rather pleasant fellow. He even gave us water."

"He tried to drown you, Estel," Elrond said, his eyebrows arching so high that they almost disappeared into his hair. "After he tortured all of you for three days."

"Well," the man shrugged. "That, too. You know, after all this time you develop a different set of standards."

"Three weeks ago," Erestor went on, ignoring everybody and everything else, apparently trying to get this over with as quickly as possible, "while you were trying to avoid yet another kidnapping attempt, you ran into a group of human highwaymen who, once they realised where you were from, took you captive and tried to exact ransom."

"That is hardly worth mentioning," Legolas said, waving dismissingly. "That was only for a few days. Lord Glorfindel found us quickly enough."

"Lord Glorfindel," Erestor interrupted him, apparently unable to let that stand without contestation, "stumbled over you with yet another hunting party – I have to talk with him about that, by the way, he is becoming as bad as you are – and barely made it out of that glade alive. And neither did you."

"Well, we _did_ make it out," Elladan stressed. "And they held a knife to Estel's throat, to no one else's."

"Thank you so much for reminding me, _muindor nín_," the ranger told his oldest brother with a thoroughly fake smile.

"Yes, indeed, thank you for reminding us, Elladan," Elrond tried to reassert his position in this conversation. "I had almost forgotten about that."

"And finally, ten days ago," Erestor continued, realising that his reasonable remarks were completely lost on his surroundings, "Elladan, Estel and Prince Legolas fell off a tree which they had used as a lookout for potential quarry. If I remember correctly, you barely managed to avoid breaking your necks and could return to Rivendell only with Elrohir's help."

Elrohir looked very smug at that, but while Elladan and Aragorn only rolled their eyes and remained silent, having learned that protests wouldn't help them, Legolas took a step forward, apparently not willing to accept the dark-haired elf lord's words.

"Wood-elves, my Lord Erestor, do not fall off trees. It is something that simply does not happen."

"Oh?" Erestor asked, arching a dark eyebrow. "I have made some other experiences, personally, but far be it from my mind to disagree with you, your Highness." Legolas narrowed his eyes and had just enough time to decide that Lord Erestor could give Celylith a run for his money when it came to respectfully disrespecting him, when the elf lord continued, a lenient smile on his lips. "Then what happened?"

"Well…" Aragorn began.

"Yes?" Erestor asked.

"Well," Elladan repeated his human brother's words. "We … we might have…"

"Exactly," Elrond cut his son off. "You fell off a tree."

"No," Legolas shook his head stubbornly. "We didn't."

He would have said more, but at that moment Elrond lost his patience and shot him a _look_ so full of menace and dark threats that even he, as a son of Thranduil, was impressed and fell silent. Erestor, either unaware of all this of not caring, looked up from his list once again, a helpful, bland expression on his face.

"I have more for you, if you want to hear it. My list reaches back another fourteen months."

The four young beings shot him a scathing look (which didn't impress him at all), but Elrond shot his head.  
"Thank you, Erestor. I think that should be quite enough."

Erestor nodded and went back to staring at his list, clearly wishing to be anywhere but here, but Elrond ignored him and returned his attention to his sons and the prince.  
"That should answer your question. And even if it hasn't," he interrupted himself, a rather disconcerting smile on his face, "I find that I do not care overly much. You will not be going on any more hunting trips, and that is final."

Elrohir exchanged a look with his brothers, and Elrond could almost see how his brain worked to come up with a solution. After a heartbeat he looked up at his father, the fake, harmless innocence he had inherited from his mother shining in his eyes.  
"What about walks?"

"Not allowed." Erestor shook his head curtly as he rolled up his list to be able to read the lower part of it. "Not if they take you outside of the borders in the truest sense of the word."

"Nothing further than to the ford, then?" Elladan asked, an incredulous sparkle appearing in his grey eyes.

"No." The dark-haired elf lord shook his head again. Judging by his faintly amused expression, he was slowly beginning to get into the spirit of things.

"What about riding excursions?" Elrohir wanted to know, even though he knew exactly what kind of answer he would get. He had known Erestor for all his life and he had come to know and fear that sparkle that was now visible in his eyes.

He was not disappointed. Erestor raised his head and smiled at him, a smile that would have frightened even a fully grown warg.  
"Please, Elrohir. Of course not."

"Visits to neighbouring settlements?" Aragorn tried.

"No."

"Visits to settlements that are a bit further away?"

"No."

"Diplomatic missions?"

"No."

"Missions of any kind?"

"No."

"Travels … well, somewhere?" That was Legolas, looking as if he wasn't sure whether he should take this seriously or not.

"No."

"Not unless you want to return home, young prince," Elrond interjected, smiling broadly at that thought. "In that case I would be more than happy to provide you with an escort to make sure you reach the realm of your father safe and sound."

Rather to make sure that he left and never came back, but that was something the half-elf didn't have to say. Even though the Thranduilesque mask was firmly back in place, the thoughts could be seen on the blond elf's face as clearly as if they had been painted on his forehead in bold black letters.

"I thank you, my lord, but that won't be necessary." Legolas smiled at the Lord of Rivendell. For a moment he regretted deeply that Celylith had had to leave a few days ago; he could use some help right about now! "I am content where I am."

"Then I suggest you make yourself comfortable in your quarters," Elrond answered, the same kind of smile on his face. "Because, by my father's star, none of you will be going anywhere until you stop this kind of behaviour."

"Until we stop this kind of behaviour?" Aragorn asked, indignation visible in every line of his face. "You make it sound as if all of this is our fault!"

"It is," Elrond said serenely. "I have meditated on during this many sleepless nights. It is your fault. I do not know yet why you do it, or even how you do it, but it _is_ your fault."

The four young beings were staring at him out of wide eyes, quite clearly not being able to believe what they were hearing, but Elrond either didn't notice or didn't care. He was far too busy glaring disapprovingly at Erestor, who had lost the fight with the gleeful amusement that was beginning to spread over his face. He could not understand how the other elf lord could find this amusing; this was serious!

"Be that as it may," Elrond went on, unfazed by his sons' and their friend's reaction. "I already have something to keep your minds occupied. Elladan, Elrohir, there are some human traders here that need attention. I am sure the master of the warehouses could use your help. Consider it an exercise in management."

Elladan was already opening his mouth to say something, but an elbow that his twin jabbed into his ribs made him fall silent. Elrohir, always the more diplomatic one and the one more attuned to other people's feelings, knew very well that a protest would change nothing and would end in something far worse than an "exercise in management", whatever that was supposed to mean. In that case, they would be lucky if they got out of it alive and without any important parts missing.

"Yes, _ada_, we understand," he said respectfully, in just the tone of voice a dutiful son ought to use when speaking with his wise and revered father. "I am sure it will be … instructive."

Erestor wasn't fooled by any of this for a second. He had more than enough experience with insincere declarations (Glorfindel _was_ his friend, after all), and besides, he had known the twins since their birth. If they looked at you like that, they were planning something you were better off not knowing about.

Elrond seemed to come to the same conclusion, but also didn't seem to care.  
"Good." No one moved, and so he added, an eyebrow raised in very threatening manner, "You are dismissed."

Realising that their father was relentless about this, the twins gave Elrond a sketched bow and quickly made their way out of the room. A second later, Aragorn and Legolas seemed to decide simultaneously and without words that, in this case, discretion was definitely the better part of valour and beat a hasty retreat as well.

Erestor gave his lord and friend a few minutes to realise that he was still keeping him from various very important duties (one of them a board game with Glorfindel which he absolutely refused to lose), and when no such reaction was forthcoming, finally asked if he could be dismissed. Elrond hardly looked at him and only waved his hand in agreement, and the dark-haired councillor picked up his list and slowly and carefully moved towards the door. He wasn't quite tip-toeing or doing anything else that could be interpreted as sneaking, but it was close.

He would have had more than enough reason to sneak, for it had finally happened, the event that so many elves had anticipated with mingled malicious anticipation and dread: Lord Elrond had finally snapped and taken leave of his senses.

It was something that should have made him fear for the fate of the world in general and Rivendell and the remaining Noldor of Middle-earth in particular, but somehow, this time, Erestor found that _he_ didn't care.

It had been bound to happen, after all.

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He had always known that his father could be sneaky. Perhaps he was even a bit too sneaky to be considered a proper elf lord; then again, the people who thought in such terms were usually old, far too proper elves that frowned upon anyone who didn't have three consecutive generations of pure-blooded elves amongst their ancestors.

Be that as it may, Aragorn thought, getting firmly back on track, his foster-father was sneaky and even what one would consider distrustful. The young ranger gave the distant, gleaming silver band that was the Bruinen a longing look and turned to his fair-haired companion, his lips barely moving in order not to be overheard by anybody.

"Do you think we could lose them?"

Legolas looked at the trees around them with distaste. If you gave a bunch of Noldor a rock or something to forge, they were happy. Put them into a tree, however, and they were completely useless and about as inconspicuous as an oliphaunt amongst a herd of sheep. He briefly thought about sharing his sentiments with his human friend, but remembered the results of the last conversation of that kind and promptly closed his mouth again.

"Lose them?" he finally retorted, allowing his incredulity to be heard. "Of course we can lose them." He fell silent for a moment and then added, "Should we?"

That was apparently a question Aragorn hadn't ever asked himself. He looked at the elven prince, clearly perplexed.  
"Well," he finally said. "We always do, don't we?"

That was something that could not be contested. No matter what happened or how often they got captured by orcs or evil maniacs (of both genders), they _always_ did their best to get away from their guards/brothers/friends/guardians/fathers.

"Nothing easier than that." Legolas smiled at his companion in a faintly unsettling manner, conceding that his argument was convincing. "I have had _yéni_ of experience with sneaking out of the palace or away from my guardians. Just ask Celylith."

"I did," the man said. "He started going red in the face and foaming at the mouth."

Legolas nodded thoughtfully. He had never seen Celylith react in such a way, even though he could imagine it only too well. It sounded rather amusing.  
"Be that as it may," the elven prince went on, "it is easy, truly. I have done it a thousand times."

Aragorn cocked his head to the side and studied the elf.  
"And how did that usually go for you?"

Legolas was silent for a few moments, his face completely expressionless as he recounted past escapades. After several long moments he finally smiled at the man in a thoroughly unconvincing manner.  
"Perfectly. Why?"

Aragorn returned the smile in kind and shook his head, refusing to believe his friend.  
"And I am Sauron in disguise."

"I knew it!"

The man ignored him without any trouble.  
"So, how many times did you land yourself and Celylith and all others that were unlucky enough to be in the vicinity in deadly peril? And having to face your father counts, too."

"Not too many times." Legolas shook his head and began to steer the man over to the right, into the direction of a small copse of trees. If he remembered correctly, the trees were standing closely together, and there was enough undergrowth to give their guards the slip. "If you don't count the troll incident, which I am inclined not to do."

"Which one?" Aragorn asked with interest. "The one with the one close to Dol Guldur or the … unfortunate accident … we were involved in a few years back?"

"Neither."

The elf shook his head. They had almost reached the trees now, and a broad smile began to spread over his face. Hah, he thought gleefully, Rivendell's warriors didn't stand a chance! No one and nothing bested a wood-elf when he walked amongst trees of any kind, be they the trees of his home or not. Well, apart from black squirrels, but that was a whole different story.

"There was another one?" Aragorn was looking at him with wide eyes, impressed by the existence of yet another near-disaster about which he hadn't known anything.

Legolas decided not to enlighten his friend about the fact that there had in fact been _several_.

"Nothing special, truly," he explained with a dismissive wave of his hand. "Just the usual, you know: A patrol, me being separated from everybody else during a warg attack, me being attacked by a hungry troll, caves, fire, spits, the stereotypical beating-and-near-death experience, Celylith and Glónduil coming to the rescue, me almost dying on the way to the palace, two weeks in the healing wing under Master Hithrawyn's distrustful eyes, disapproving lectures from my father." He shrugged. "As I said, the usual."

There might have been a time when such an enumeration would have shocked the young ranger, but that time (if it had ever existed in the first place) was long past.

"I see." He nodded somewhat distractedly; he had got bored by Legolas' list after the beating-and-near-death experience. His friend was right, after all; after the tenth experience of that kind they tended to become the tiniest bit dull. "Just when were we going to lose _ada's_ watchdogs again?"

The answer to that question came promptly, but not in form of words but in form of Legolas' hand that clamped around his left upper arm and yanked him to the side, into the shadow of a huge, towering oak. After twenty minutes of rather sneaky wood-elven tricks, hiding and scrambling for cover, they exited the small copse of trees, doubtlessly leaving behind a group of fuming elven warriors who were more than willing to chance King Thranduil's wrath and show his offspring just what happened when you crossed the warriors of Imladris.

Said offspring made a mental note to mention this little incident the next time he wrote his father a letter. The Elvenking would most likely be intensely proud.

Giving the trees a last glance (in Aragorn's case a slightly guilty and in Legolas' case a rather smug one), the two of them began to make their way down to the banks of the river, carefully keeping close to the trees or whatever other shelter they could find.

After several minutes of walking or rather sneaking, Legolas seemed to remember his earlier line of inquiry and shot his human friend a quick, inquisitive look.  
"Just _why_ are sneaking off again? Your brothers are still occupied with their 'exercise in management'."

Aragorn looked just as confused as the first time this question had come up.  
"Well … because?"

And, just like the first time, Legolas couldn't come up with a better reason himself. When they reached the Bruinen and slowly began to follow it downstream (there were fewer guards and crossable spots there), the fair-haired elf decided that the reason for that was probably connected to just why they always taunted the sadistic madman du jour. It didn't make sense either; all either of them had ever come up with by means of an answer was "It seemed like a good idea at the time."

It was never an answer that satisfied their fathers, who promptly behaved as if this was the latest proof that they wanted to drive them to madness and despair.

That was not correct, of course. That would have required wilful intent, and, by the Valar, they were not doing this on purpose. It just … happened.

He had just reached that conclusion when he noticed that he was following Aragorn into the direction of the stream and a lesser-used ford. It was known exclusively to the border patrols and Aragorn and his brothers, and more than once a part of Legolas had asked itself if sharing such a secret with a son of Elrond had been a particularly clever idea.

"Aragorn?"

"Yes?" the man retorted without turning around.

"Are we crossing the river?"

"Yes." The ranger nodded.

"Why?"

Now, the young man did turn around.  
"It … sounds like a good idea?"

That figured. But Legolas couldn't honestly say that it didn't. He didn't like the idea of spending an unspecified amount of time within Rivendell's borders without doing anything any better than Aragorn. He had his daggers and Aragorn carried his favourite knife, the one from Lórien that the twins had given him some years ago, but he didn't carry his bow just like Aragorn didn't have his sword, because that would have given their plans away.

It was of little consequence, he decided. These parts were relatively safe, after all, and they would only be gone for a short time. And besides, it _did_ sound like a good idea.

So they crossed the river. Neither of them slipped or stumbled and they safely reached the other shore, and once they set foot on dry ground, they weren't attacked by orcs, wargs, wolves, highwaymen or evil madmen. It was a highly promising start indeed, which should have alerted them to the fact that something was definitely off here. Even unsuspecting as they were, neither one of them was surprised when, about an hour after having crossed the river, the birds in the trees around them fell silent and an eerie, hair-raising silence settled over the woodland.

Aragorn shifted slightly from foot to foot, eyeing their surroundings with a mixture of annoyance and apprehension. Legolas and he came to the same conclusion at the same time, namely that the huge tree ten feet to their right would make an excellent place to make their stand, and without even looking at each other they slowly walked over to it, their hands wandering to the hilts of their knives.

"So, what do you think is it this time?" Legolas asked, only sounding remotely interested. It was only logical, Aragorn supposed. He had been doing this for only twenty-something years; Legolas, who was nearly as old as the twins, really had to become annoyed by now. "Wargs? Or wolves, maybe?"

The man shook his head and leaned back against the broad trunk at his back.  
"No, I don't think so. I would say … highwaymen."

"So close to Rivendell?" Legolas arched an eyebrow dubiously. "You are losing your touch, _mellon nín_. Anybody can see that this is – or rather will be – yet another evil maniac."

"Another one?" If nothing else, Aragorn found that idea entertaining. "You know, even we can only attract so many. That would be the fourth this year!"

"So?" the elf asked. "And you said it yourself earlier today: That last one didn't really count."

"He _was_ rather nice before Elladan chopped off his head." Aragorn nodded his own, still firmly attached head. "Still, I don't think so."

"Would you like to place a bet?" Legolas asked, a calculating gleam entering his eyes as he turned his head to look at his friend.

"What is it with you Silvan Elves and bets?" Aragorn asked, exasperated. "You are nearly as bad as Celylith! You lot would bet on _anything_!"

Legolas decided that now was not the time to mention his father's dream of legalizing gambling in Mirkwood, building huge inns and bankrupting as many dwarves as he possibly could.

"Well, there are some things that are too important to bet on," he admitted. "Like the development of the prices of Dorwinion wine. But anything else…"

"Is fair game," Aragorn finished his sentence. He rolled his eyes, therefore missing the grand entrance of a group of tall, hooded, very clearly armed and thoroughly menacing-looking figures. He needn't have worried, though; Legolas was too busy looking indignant to notice anything, either. "Have you ever thought of seeking professional help? A mind healer might be what you need. Or maybe an Istar. I hear Gandalf is fabulous with mind-restoring spells."

"The day I accept medical advice from a Noldo will be a dark day for Middle-earth," Legolas proclaimed solemnly. "And doubly so when it is a son of Elrond."

"Quite obviously; it would be the day you Sindar would actually start making some sense," Aragorn said.

"Silvan elves aren't Sindar in the truest sense of the word, even though my family is," Legolas argued. The dark, hooded figures were coming closer, appearing slightly puzzled, but neither of them noticed. "I am surprised that a Noldo wouldn't know that. Deep-elves indeed!"

"I am not an elf, and can therefore not be a Noldo."

"A technicality," the elven prince waved the words aside like a troll would a bothersome insect. "You are as much a Noldo as your brothers and your father."

"Oh, of course," Aragorn agreed, a sarcastic undertone tingeing his words. "38 generations removed, of course. 38 generations of human ancestors, if I might add."

"Then, Elrondion, you are a Noldo by association." Legolas looked very pleased with that assessment. "With genetic predispositions." He shook his head in mock sadness. "I supposed you are not entirely responsible for your attitude, then."

By now, the strange beings had drawn a tight semicircle around the arguing elf and ranger, and if one of the two had looked up, he would have seen more than a dozen armed people who radiated malicious intent. The weapons they were brandishing ranged from long, wicked daggers and swords to crossbows and short bows, and while some of them looked as if they had already seen many seasons, they looked well taken care of. These people were professionals, that much was sure.

The two of them did not look up, though. Legolas was right now grinning at his human friend, who was brimming with righteous indignation.

"Attitude?" Aragorn exclaimed. He was apparently only one step away from waving his arms and hopping up and down. "What attitude? The Sindar invented attitudes of any kind, and no doubt about that!"

Legolas raised an eyebrow and managed to look just like his father while doing it.  
"Silmarils, ever-lasting vengeance, Kinslaying, pointless battles, even more pointless heroics – does any of this sound familiar? If that isn't an attitude, I don't know what is!"

The armed figures looked definitely uneasy now. They were apparently unused to their victims ignoring them completely and arguing amongst themselves as if nothing at all was wrong. They looked at each other, clearly at a loss what to do, and finally one of them stepped forward, pushing back his hood in the process and revealing the weather-beaten face of a man. He was perhaps thirty years old, with dark hair and a dark beard, armed to the teeth with a crossbow, a short sword and two curved knives, and looked confused more than anything else.

After a moment of hesitation, he took a deep breath and cleared his throat. Neither the elven prince nor the ranger paid him any attention, too caught-up were they in their argument. It was something that astonished the man, but it would have provoked only a headshake and a shrug in the average citizen of Rivendell.

"An _attitude_?" Aragorn was repeating right now, glaring at the far too smug-faced elf in front of him. "Morgoth stole the Silmarils and murdered Finwë! If that is not a cause for vengeance, then what is? What should Fëanor have done, let the murderer of his father escape unhindered and unpunished?"

"I never said that," Legolas hurried to assure the man. Elf he might not be, but he was quick to take offence in the name of his Noldorin forefathers. That was the problem of the Noldor, he decided: No sense of humour. "But it is an attitude, admit it."

"Hah!" the man exclaimed, clearly unwilling to admit any such thing. "I will tell you what an attitude is, wood-elf, your haughty, superior arrogance and your…"

"Excuse me!" The man had apparently had enough. Judging by the expression on his face, he wasn't sure if he was dreaming or not.

Elf and ranger turned as one and gave the man a withering glare that should have shrivelled him on the spot.  
"What?" they asked in unison.

The man looked as perplexed as only the leader of a group of armed-to-the-teeth mercenaries could look who was being yelled at by two basically unarmed beings who were completely ignoring the threat he or his men posed them.

"Are you living in Rivendell?" he finally asked. He was blinking frequently, Aragorn noticed, as if he couldn't quite believe what he was seeing. "Both of you?"

These were apparently conscientious mercenaries who wanted to make sure they were attacking the right people. It made for a nice change, Legolas decided, and prompted him to give the man in front of him an indulgent smile.

"How many elven settlements do you think exist around here?"

The man gave him a blank look, and before he had to turn around to his companions for support, Aragorn took pity on him and added, "What he means to say in his arrogant way is: Yes, we are."

"Oh, so that is arrogant?" Legolas asked, turning back to the ranger. "I hate to break this to you, Estel, but if that is arrogant, then you are, too."

"I could never be as arrogant as you." Aragorn shook his head, also returning his attention to his friend. The mercenaries around them were looking from one of them to the other as if they were following a ballgame, incredulous confusion on their faces. The leader only looked flabbergasted. "I can't pull off the whole 'incredulously raised eyebrow/contemptuous expression/faint loathing in the voice' that you are so fond of. You know what I mean?"

He turned towards the men's leader expectantly, and Legolas, too, was looking at him with – yes – an incredulously raised eyebrow. Swallowing quickly under the elven scrutiny, the man simply nodded wordlessly. Aragorn looked back at the elf triumphantly, but Legolas simply shrugged.

"He is a hired henchman. What does he know?"

"Apparently more than you, o old and wise…"

"Excuse me!" the hired henchman repeated, apparently tearing himself out of his stupor. This was clearly not what he'd had in mind when he had accepted this job. "This is a kidnapping! A bit more attention would not go amiss!"

That clearly was something he shouldn't have said, as the man quickly realised. The elf turned towards his friend, an air of triumph about him, and the ranger glared at him before he reluctantly looked at the elf. This wasn't going how these things ought to go, the man decided dazedly, and he would be damned if he knew just when things had started to take this decidedly wrong turn.

"So this _is_ a kidnapping!" Legolas exclaimed, making sure that there was no way Aragorn could miss his gleeful enjoyment.

"Of course it is," the leader said, desperately trying to get this situation back under control. "So, you two are from Rivendell?"

"We've been over this," Legolas said impatiently, the indulgence he'd felt for the men quickly fading. They might be conscientious kidnappers, but they were also not very clever ones. That wasn't too uncommon, mind you; it was the main reason why Aragorn and he kept surviving all these things. "Are you new at all this?"

"Yes … I mean, shut up!" the man ground out, flustered. "I am the one asking the questions here!"

The two friends exchanged a pained look. This lot was apparently not only not very clever, but also not very original. Sometimes, Aragorn wondered absent-mindedly, he asked himself if there was a book called "A Hundred Phrases Every Self-respecting Villain Should Know". It would hardly surprise him.

"Then ask," he said curtly. If this took any longer, he would lose his patience, which was already strained due to having to concede that Legolas had been right.

"What!" The man wasn't quite yelling yet, but it was a close thing. His companions looked too confused to feel amusement, which was probably a good thing. Their leader didn't look as if he was inclined to tolerate smiles, no matter how small.

"If you are the one asking the questions, you actually have to _ask_ them."

The man searched for words and finally took a deep breath, probably to calm himself.  
"You two are from Rivendell?"

"I cannot believe this," Legolas interrupted him. "This hasn't happened to me in _years_. I…"

"Yes," Aragorn answered, shooting his elven friend a quelling look. "We are."

The man nodded, looking satisfied at last.  
"And are you…"

"All right!" Legolas exclaimed, his patience finally spent. "Just let us get this over with, please. At this rate, we will still be here tomorrow, and by then I plan to be safely back in Imladris. So," he looked at the men's leader, who seemed to have forgotten how to close his mouth, "yes, we are from Rivendell. Yes, he is Lord Elrond's adopted son. Yes, I am Legolas of Mirkwood. Yes, we are alone. So would you please do something already?"

The confusion on the man's face was quickly replaced by suspicion. His men continued to look confused. Aragorn just looked bored.

"Why would you tell me this on your own?" the man asked, his eyes narrowing.

"Elbereth Gilthoniel!" the elven prince sighed. "If you really want to know, it is the voice of experience talking. The sooner we get these questions out of the way, the sooner we can get this over with. But then again, perhaps I am lying, or I am mad. Perhaps I'm just bored out of my skull. Take your pick."

One look at the man's face and everybody knew which option he considered the most likely one. It took him only a moment to make up his mind, though, and he quickly turned around to his men.  
"It's them. Bind them and let's get out of here before their friends come looking for them."

"Finally!" Legolas exclaimed.

The man ignored him, looking almost a little scared now. It took the mercenaries only as few moments to take friends' weapons, search them for hidden ones and bind their hands behind them with the rope they had brought. That seemed to spark off a new discussion about how often hands were being tied behind them and how many times in front of them, and the leader couldn't help but stare at the two in incredulous consternation. They had to be mad; they just _had_ to.

While the elf and the ranger were being prodded into the direction where the group of humans had left their horses, the argument ended with an abruptness that rather worried the dark-haired man. A second later the two fixed their attention on him, which made him feel as if a very bright light had been lit and trained on him and him alone, and he couldn't help but swallow when the elf cocked his head to the side with a half-smile that rightly shouldn't be on the face of someone who was just being kidnapped.

"So, which evil maniac are you taking us to? And, more importantly, is it far away?" He turned back to his friend. "It's always such a bother when it's far away."

"True." The ranger nodded. "Anything that's further away than the Trollshaws is too far. The Valar forbid that it's the Misty Mountains again."

The elf nodded as well and turned back to the men's leader, resolutely ignoring the sword hilt that was being jammed into the small of his back in order to make him move faster.  
"Which is it? Where is your employer?"

This whole situation was so bizarre that the man actually found himself answering.  
"I could not tell you, even if I wanted to. Which I do not."

"Ah!" the fair-haired elf exclaimed and exchanged a knowing look with the ranger. "It's one of the mysterious ones."

During the ensuing argument about which kind of kidnapper was the best, the man found that he had to resist the oh-so-very-very-_very_-inviting temptation of burying his head in his hands.

This was _not_ how this was supposed to go.

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**TBC... **

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_pen-neth (S.) - young one  
ada (S.) - father (daddy)  
muindor nín (S.) - my brother (by blood, not association)  
yéni (pl. of yén) (Q.) - elvish unit of time, equivalent to 144 solar years  
mellon nín (S.) - my friend _

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**Gods, I really have no idea what possessed me to write this. I blame it all on Jack. •g• So, as I said, the next chapter should be here in about a week. I had hoped to start posting sooner, but alas, it was not to be. So, stay tuned for the next bit of whatever-this-is, where Elrond finds out what has happened, Erestor makes a list, Elladan and Elrohir make a bet, Aragorn and Legolas find something to entertain themselves, we find out the men's leader's name and meet the evil maniac du jour. Fun all around! And yes, reviews are very welcome, weird as the story is. •g• Thanks!**


	2. Whom He Wishes To Destroy

**Disclaimer:** For full disclaimer, please see chapter 1.

**A/N:**

_**•****•****•I'm very sorry, guys, but it seems that something went wrong during the last update. A big thank you to all of you who let me know, because I wouldn't have noticed it - I can see the chapter when I log in. I don't understand it. I probably uploaded too shortly before the server thingy, whatever it was. So, I hope this time you'll be able to see it! Don't worry about the reviews that probably will be lost now; I still got them. Thanks, and sorry again!****•****•****•**_

**Wow. Picture me stunned. I hadn't expected anyone to like this little piece of insanity! So, I am both pleasantly surprised and very grateful. I am very happy so many people are enjoying this, and hope you will continue liking it. I have my doubts about that, because it only gets weirder - I REALLY have no idea how all this happened.**

**So, I actually plan to make this a little shorter than usual. There aren't as many questions to address as usually during the course of a story, especially since this is already the second-to-last chapter. The next one should be here in about a week. Tuesday I am going back home, and since I am staying with my brother till I have found a flat, I don't know how much time I will have to finish the chapter and edit everything.**

**Be that as it may, here is chapter two of three, with a lot more unbridled insanity! Elrond is very unhappy, Erestor and Glorfindel are nervous, Isál and Elvynd even more so, Elladan and Elrohir have spent too much time with wood-elves, Aragorn and Legolas are having several interesting conversations, we find out the name of the mercenaries' leader, meet the kidnapper himself and everything goes from bad (or insane) to worse. Because Elrond hates kidnappings. He really, really does. •g•**

**Enjoy and review, please!**

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Chapter 2

"I," Elrond began, pronouncing every following word concisely and clearly in a way that would have made his old teachers proud, "refuse to believe this."

Elvynd would almost have laughed derisively, and only the memory of what had happened to the last person who had done that stopped him. The captain of one of Rivendell's finest guards – and in his opinion of _the_ finest – therefore only kept his head lowered and his eyes on the floor and refrained from asking; thusly he would get out of this alive, if he was very, _very_ lucky, that was.

Lord Elrond's reaction was only too understandable, though. It had been his reaction as well, when Lord Glorfindel had called together his captains, had told them what had happened and had then asked for a volunteer to tell their lord what had happened. The warriors who had been supposed to guard Lord Elrond's son and the prince and who had let them get away had been too busy composing their last wills and biding their friends and family farewell to be bothered with this as well.

On the one hand, Elvynd understood this perfectly well (he, too, would like some time for himself before having to face Lord Elrond after such a failure), but on the other hand, it was a terrible waste. These warriors – who, of course, did not belong to his guard – were doomed, so why drag another person into it? And, more importantly, why drag _him_ into it?

Because, naturally, he had not volunteered for anything. He hadn't reached the – for the Eldar admittedly not very ripe – age of almost fifteen _yéni_ by volunteering for suicidal missions. And in Rivendell, that would be most missions. Lord Glorfindel, however, had not been very impressed by the absolute silence that had fallen after his request for a volunteer and the incredulous looks on everybody's faces. The golden-haired elf lord hadn't become Lord Elrond's seneschal and captain of his forces by being indecisive or unwilling to order people around, and so he had quickly pointed at the nearest elf (which had been Elvynd) and had coolly informed him of his new duty.

All this actually only proved one thing: Lord Glorfindel hated him.

He didn't know what he had ever done to the blond elf lord and in what manner he had slighted him so horribly that it deserved such a response. He had always thought he had been sufficiently obedient and respectful, but there he had apparently been under a misconception.

And this, Elvynd concluded darkly while he was staring at Lord Elrond like a rabbit at a snake, was why he was here, informing the other elf of the fact that his adopted son had disappeared again and that no one had any idea as to where he might be.

"I am sorry, my lord," he finally said, deciding that anything would be better than being stared at by Lord Elrond with _that_ kind of _look_ his eyes, "but it is true. They shook off their guards and disappeared. Captain Isál and his men are looking for anything that might tell us where they went, but…"

"Oh, he shouldn't bother," Elrond said in an airy manner and waved a hand. "I can tell you what they will find: The two of them completely disregarded my orders – again –, crossed the Bruinen – again –, and were then waylaid by bandits – again. Or they were attacked by wargs, or wolves, or orcs, or trolls, or a cross of several. Or they were kidnapped by yet another evil madman out for their, mine or Lord Thranduil's blood." He smiled at Elvynd in a manner the young captain found thoroughly unsettling. "Did I miss anything?"

"Well," Elvynd said after a moment's consideration, "they might have fallen _into_ the Bruinen, my lord."

"A good point," Elrond murmured, leaning back into his high-backed chair. "It would hardly be the first time, after all. And considering the time of year and the river's water levels, they would have been swept away at a sufficient speed to make sure that they have either drowned by now or are involved in some sort of deadly peril." His eyes narrowed and something that the minstrels would have described as a fell light came into his eyes. "That should make them happy, shouldn't it?"

Elvynd chose the wisest course of action, namely to assume that his lord was speaking rhetorically and that an answer was not only not required, but would also be highly inopportune and maybe even stupid. He didn't know what he thought about the whole thing anyway. Lord Elrond was firmly convinced that all this was his sons' and their friends' fault and that they were getting themselves involved in all of this on purpose, but he wasn't that sure. Not even the sons of Elrond and Prince Legolas were that stupid. It was, in his opinion, nothing more and nothing less than the worst case of bad luck he had ever seen in his entire life.

He was spared an answer in the end, because the door to Lord Elrond's study opened with only a small creak and the Lords Erestor and Glorfindel walked in, both looking as if they were upholding the neutral, expressionless masks on their faces with considerable effort. Lord Erestor was holding a roll of parchment in one hand and was, despite his best efforts, looking slightly apprehensive (but truly only slightly apprehensive, because Elvynd knew better than to assume that Lord Erestor was afraid of Lord Elrond), while Lord Glorfindel radiated the utter and complete calmness and mindless unconcern that not even a balrog and the subsequent, albeit temporary death had been able to erase.

"The twins are still here," the golden-haired elf declared as he strode into the room, sat down in one of the chairs situated in front of the large desk and pushed the other unoccupied chair into Erestor's direction. "I sent someone to fetch them. They are still occupied with your 'exercise in management', whatever that is supposed to mean. You do have a cruel streak, my lord."

Elvynd noticed that the honorary title was the only concession the blond elf lord made to the seriousness of the situation, and that only Lord Glorfindel was brave – or stupid – enough to speak to Lord Elrond thus at a time like this.

Then again, maybe Lord Glorfindel was only bored. It was usually him who had to ride out and drag back what was left of Estel, the prince and whoever was stupid enough to accompany them. Boredom could drive people – millennia old elf lords included – to do the strangest things.

He needn't have worried, though. Lord Elrond was far too distracted (or rather furious) to pay his seneschal any attention.

"This is another one for your list, Erestor," the dark-haired elf lord said. He seemed not to notice how bizarre his statement sounded, even though Elvynd would have been willing to bet that he knew and simply didn't care. "You should write it down."

"Yes, my lord," Erestor replied obediently and unrolled his list, taking a quill from Elrond's desk. "I will."

He began to scribble something down, which was enough to satisfy the other elf, who promptly went back to fuming without words. From where he was standing to the left and slightly behind the two chairs, Elvynd could see that Lord Erestor was doing no such thing, however. After reading the first few lines, Elvynd found that he had to revise an earlier opinion: Apparently madness _was_ contagious, and Lord Elrond had already got his chief advisor. And who knew how many people beside him.

On the top of the roll of parchment, it said "Disaster", followed by a disturbingly high two-digit number. Elvynd could only assume that Lord Erestor was only counting the happenings of this year. A bit further down, under a string of half-spelled profanities in a myriad of languages of which he recognised less than fifty percent, the list itself started, apparently running down more or less the entire length of the paper. That was a feat in itself.

Without changing his position or craning his neck in too obvious a way, Elvynd could only see the first few lines. Number One, the digit drawn with a flourish, said nothing more than "Find a bottle of Dorwinion". Number Two said "Drink the bottle of Dorwinion". Behind Number One and Two, Elvynd could see a small mark he still recognised from history lessons long past and which he knew signified "Done" or "Completed successfully". Number Three, "Stay calm", showed the same symbol, even though a rather shaking hand had underlined the two words several times.

Then, however, things became decidedly strange.

Number Four said "Have him have Glorfindel organise everything this time, let's see how _he_ likes it" (he could only assume that "him" was Lord Elrond), while Number Five repeated "Stay calm". Number Six, "Remember, it's not your fault", was followed by Number Seven, the first point of the list that was not followed by one of Lord Erestor's affirmative Done-and-completed symbols.

Now Elvynd _did_ crane his neck, intrigued by this. But yes, as far as he could see Number Seven said "Make sure Elrond doesn't go mad". He had trouble reading it, for the words had been crossed out by the same shaking hand that had underlined Number Three. It had been replaced by the words "Make sure he doesn't kill anyone important".

Anybody else (or rather, anybody not living in Rivendell) would have been shocked or at least surprised by this. Elvynd merely asked himself how in the name of Eru Ilúvatar and all that was holy he would be able to convince Lord Elrond that he was important, too.

"Do not worry, my lord." Glorfindel's voice interrupted Elvynd's ruminations and caused him to tear his eyes away from Lord Erestor's hand that was right now underlining the second "Stay Calm". "They shall be fine, as they always are."

That was apparently the wrong thing to say. The half-elf's eyes lit up like a candle.  
"Fine?" He was on his feet in half a second, so quickly in fact that it made Elvynd's head spin. "Fine! Whatever are you talking about? They are never fine!"

Glorfindel stared at his lord with wide, blue eyes – Elrond had never before hopped up and down – and only just stopped himself from spreading his hands in the universal gesture of harmlessness and peace. Elf lords did not do such things, after all. A sharp, almost panicky look from Erestor (apparently Lord Elrond's chief councillor considered Lord Glorfindel important, Elvynd noted almost sourly) was all it took, and he started to back-pedal as quickly as he could.

"Of course not, _hîr nín_," he said in the most soothing voice he could manage. "They never are. I don't know what I was thinking."

"Nobody knows what you are thinking," Erestor mumbled under his breath.

"At least I am saying what I am thinking," Glorfindel retorted.

"Oh, trust me, my Lord Glorfindel, when I say that I have never withheld my opinion from you, nor shall I ever do so."

"Oh, that much is true," Glorfindel exclaimed, either choosing to ignore or not even noticing the dark cloud of doom that was beginning to gather over Elrond's head. "No one could joke about that."

"I do not joke," Erestor told him coolly. "I am a scholar. I have no sense of humour."

"Truer words have never been spo…"

"Are you finished?" This time, Elrond _was_ yelling. "My son and King Thranduil's only child and heir have disappeared and are right now probably in the process of being tortured by an evil megalomaniac or dangling off cliffs or being eaten by wolves and all you two do is _fool around_?"

"We are not 'fooling around'," Erestor said, all his earlier intentions of not upsetting his lord any further apparently forgotten in light of this insult. "We are having a discuss…"

"Nobody cares, Erestor!" Lord Elrond was still yelling, Elvynd noted absent-mindedly while he was backing away into the direction of the door. He simply wasn't prepared for the possibility that he wasn't important after all. "No matter how many times you say that, nobody believes you! You _are_ fooling around!"

Erestor gave the rather red face of his lord and friend a single look before he quite obviously decided that disagreeing with him would have unpleasant consequences. Having principles was a nice thing, but in his opinion they were seldom worth getting yourself killed.

"Yes, my lord," he said in a tone of voice that clearly stated that he would agree to anything up to and including the statement that he was a chipmunk.

Elrond stared at him, still looking rather red and apparently looking for signs that his advisor was mocking him. Erestor returned the look, sweet innocence radiating off him that made Glorfindel almost convulse with laughter.

Elvynd decided that now would be the perfect opportunity to escape the company of the "important" elves, but before his hand had even touched the doorhandle, the door was opened from the outside with enough force to nearly rip it off its hinges, and two dark-haired elves stormed into the room. Elvynd's small sound of pain he couldn't hold back when the door impacted with his shin was drowned out by Elladan's voice, who sounded annoyed more than concerned.

"Have they done it _again_?"

"And who let them?" Elrohir added, his eyes coming to rest on the first possible candidate, who just happened to be Elvynd. "Were your warriors not supposed to watch their every move?"

"No!" The dark-haired captain exclaimed before he could stop himself. "They are not of my guard." He contemplated telling the twins just whose guard the warriors did belong to, but loyalty stopped him in the end. "I don't know them. I have never seen them. I have nothing at all to do with them." Elrohir narrowed his eyes at the younger elf, and couldn't help but raise an eyebrow in question when Elvynd, apparently as a last resort, blurted out, "I am important!"

The occupants of the room slowly and deliberately turned and looked at the captain, before they decided that his words were nothing more than could be expected in such a situation and returned to their own troubles. And the Valar knew that there were many.

"So, do we know what it is this time?" Elladan returned to the earlier topic. "Wolves? Wargs? Orcs, cliffs, bandits, evil madmen…?"

"Oh, you should not be this cocky, my son," Elrond told him, his face only slowly assuming its earlier colour. He didn't look quite so much like a pumpkin about to spontaneously self-combust, but the comparison still came to mind. "It is a mere coincidence that you are not involved this time."

Elladan was a fair elf even despite his quick temper, and so he accepted his father's words without words and only with a nod of his head. Besides, he knew better than to antagonise his father when he was in this kind of mood.

"So we know nothing?" Elrohir asked. "Mind you, that would be nothing new, but…"

"I beg your pardon?"

That was Glorfindel, taking the remark seriously – and personally. Elvynd had no idea if it had been meant that way or not, but he was not complaining. A little entertainment would be very nice before the inevitable happened and he joined his ancestors in Mandos' Halls. That he hadn't yet was a miracle of epical proportions.

"He meant nothing by it, Glorfindel," Erestor, obviously conscious of Number Seven of his list, hurried to placate the other elf lord. "Did you, Elrohir?"

The younger twin set his jaw rebelliously, but before he could say that, after his "exercise in management", he did mean everything he said and more, especially when he was talking to someone who hadn't stopped his father from assigning him to said exercise, the door opened and Isál entered it, looking very much as if he was climbing the stairs to a scaffold to attend his own execution.

And maybe he was, too, Elvynd thought somewhat wickedly as he avoided being hit by the door again. Isál was a captain like him and therefore possessed the same rank, and he doubted that his friend was more important than he.

"I…" Isál began, darting quick, rather panicky looks about him, "I have … news, my lords."

Elrond stared at him as if he was a blundering idiot who was wasting his time. Glorfindel was still glaring at Elrohir, who was staring fiercely at the golden-haired elf, unwilling to back down. In an act of twin solidarity, Elladan helped staring fiercely at Glorfindel. Erestor mumbled something under his breath and noted something on his list. Elvynd, after a quick, sympathetic look at his best friend that fairly screamed "Alas, I knew him well", was trying his best to melt into the walls.

"Yes?" Elrond finally ground out. To the rest of the room (except for Erestor maybe, who was completely engrossed in his list), it sounded as menacing as nails on a blackboard. "What news, Captain?"

Isál looked about him with wide eyes, clearly trying to figure out a legitimate reason not to react to that, but finally admitted defeat and took a deep breath.  
"We … we followed their tracks, my lord," he said, addressing Elrond. "They covered them quite well, and we were only able to pick them up again several hundred yards from the small wood where they shook off their guardians. The prince's work, no doubt."

Elrond merely kept staring at him in a way that made him want to roll up into a foetal position and whimper. Isál quickly decided that trying to defend his fellow warriors was the least of his worries now and that shifting the blame on Prince Legolas wouldn't help either.

"They led … they led us down to the banks of the river," he finally said, dimly wondering if he would ever again say a sentence without stammering or hesitating. His bet was that no. "They crossed the Bruinen, my lord."

"What a surprise!"

Isál almost startled visibly. Lord Elrond could be sarcastic, everybody knew that, but he hadn't known he could be _this_ sarcastic. In the background, he could hear Elrohir whisper to his brother, apparently having decided that Glorfindel wasn't worth his _looks_.

"Ten gold coins that wolves got them."

"Fifteen silver coins that it was orcs this time," Elladan countered.

"Orcs?" Glorfindel snorted softly, his earlier quarrel with Elrohir apparently forgotten. "During the daytime and so close to Rivendell? Please, _pen-neth_, be realistic."

"Fine, so it's another evil overlord," the older twin amended. "Fifteen silver coins?"

"You're on." Elrohir nodded and began to search his clothing for either money or a piece of paper to write down the bet. "Glorfindel?"

"You can count me out." The golden-haired elf lord shook his head. "I happen to think that they're due for another one; that last one doesn't count. What do you think, Erestor?"

"I think that all of you are spending too much time with wood-elves."

Elrond was too busy bubbling with righteous anger to pay them any attention. He had known the two of them would ignore his orders and get themselves into trouble again, he had just known it! He had no idea why his youngest son and his friend were doing this to him – well, Legolas was Thranduil's son, so that was at least a part of the explanation – but he was doing it on purpose. What he had ever done to the young human or the Silvan prince to merit such ill treatment was beyond him, however.

"There is more, sir," Isál added. He looked very much like someone who was signing his own death warrant. "We picked up their trail on the far bank and followed it. Perhaps a mile west of the river they were overtaken by a group of humans. I would say two dozen, maybe a few less."

"Ha!" Elladan crowed in the background. "Pay up!"

"In your dreams, _gwanur_," Elrohir retorted. "There might still be wolves. Judging by previous events, they have still approximately eighteen hours to get mauled."

"And they will be," Elrond agreed with his sons. If he had noted the previous financial angle of the discussion, he either didn't show it or simply didn't care. "They always are," he added darkly.

"But there is more still, isn't there, Captain?" Glorfindel interjected. He was beginning to shoot Elrond small, nervous looks which Erestor could understand only too well; after the red colour that had suffused their lord's face moments ago, the deathly paleness looked worrying and not healthy at all.

Isál shot him a look that should have melted his superior's brains on the spot.  
"Yes, sir," he admitted. His tone of voice made clear that he considered Glorfindel's words treason of the highest order. "We found this."

Elvynd, seized by stupid, irrational curiosity when he should be running into the other direction as fast as his legs could carry him, left his relatively safe position in front of one of the wall hangings (where he had spent the past minutes trying to pretend that he was one of the warriors depicted there) and took a step forward. It took him no more than half a second to realise what was balanced on his friend's open palm, and even less to know that of all the possibilities this was by far the worst.

Lord Elrond _hated_ kidnappings.

And so he did, for his face screwed up into an expression of deep, heart-felt loathing when his eyes came to rest on the small messenger tube his captain was holding out to him. It had no markings on the outside and was closed tightly with leather bands, but then again, that was nothing special. Ransom notes always looked like that, either because of a cosmic coincidence or because kidnappers just had no imagination.

"Another one," the half-elf said, distaste in every syllable he spoke. "Erestor, that is…"

"Number four, my lord," Erestor interrupted him and nodded, rolling up his roll of parchment until he had found the spot he had been looking for. "Duly noted."

"Fifteen silver coins, Elrohir." Elladan's voice could barely been heard in the background. "It's a ransom note, so it has to be an evil megalomaniac."

"I beg to differ," the younger twin huffed. "It could be highwaymen or another kind of bandits, and besides, it doesn't matter. They still have eighteen hours."

"Elrohir…"

"No."

Elrond was ignoring them, which was probably the only reason why the two of them were still alive. He was too busy opening the small messenger tube and extracting the parchment inside of it. This time, he noted, there were no tokens of any kind that would prove that whoever had written this message truly had Aragorn and the prince. He grimaced in disgust. Whoever was behind this was apparently new at this, or had at least hired people who were new at it.

If there was one thing he hated more than kidnappings, it was amateurish kidnappings.

"So, who is it this time?" Glorfindel asked from behind him. The golden-haired elf had got up and walked around the desk without him noticing, and in a moment of true malice Elrond vowed that he would make him pay for it, somehow. "Somebody we know?"

"'_Be at the crossing of the Great Road west of the Ford tomorrow at the tenth hour, or your precious human son and his friend die.'_" Elrond frowned while he skimmed the rest of the message. "You know I don't make empty threats, you will finally get what you deserve, make your peace with the One, prepare to die etc. etc. All in all, nothing out of the ordinary. Oh, and it's signed with 'F'."

"Now, that is going to be a big help," Glorfindel said scornfully. "These kidnappers are always so self-centred. They have no idea how many insane overlords we've already dealt with. He could at least have given us a clue or told us if he is a man or an elf. There has to be a score of both whose names begin with 'F'."

"Eighteen likely candidates amongst the Men and thirteen amongst the Elves," Erestor informed them, peering at another part of his list. He really had to get his hands on it, Glorfindel decided absent-mindedly. "Oh, and a dwarf, if you count the one that felt that we had cheated him when we made that deal with him last winter."

"Who cares?" Elrond asked almost tiredly. "This abduction will end like all the others, namely with the twins or Glorfindel chopping off someone's head."

"I resent that," Glorfindel protested. "I haven't chopped off a head in seasons. Elladan is the expert at that."

Elladan looked slightly smug at that, Erestor noted, while Elrohir ducked his head guiltily. The younger twin had always been more sensitive than his brother, and probably considered it impolite to walk around cutting off people's heads.

"So what are we going to do, _ada_?" Elladan asked.

The half-elf's face once again began to assume that very unbecoming red colour, and he took a deep breath before he answered. Until now, he had manage to somehow uphold Number Seven of his list, Erestor thought, but if they didn't start talking about something else soon (and hit Elrond over the head with a mace to make him forget all this), he wouldn't want to offer any guarantees on that subject.

"The same as always," the half-elf finally said. He sounded as if he had a hard time unclenching his teeth to get the words out. "We gather the warriors and will be at the meeting point tomorrow at the tenth hour. I will meet with them alone to lull them into a false sense of security, the rest of the warriors will follow us, they will take me to their employer and their hiding place, I will make sure that Estel and Legolas are all right, and then I will have a confrontation with the evil maniac."

"And then," Elrohir inserted with a smirk that was clearly aimed the golden-haired elf, "Glorfindel will chop off his head."

"Naturally."

Elrond nodded. His neutral expression changed into one of dark annoyance once more when he looked down onto the piece of parchment and the flowing letters that covered it. Loathing joined the annoyance as his eyes came to rest on one of the very boring threats.

Elbereth's stars above, how he hated kidnappings.  
**  
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** **  
**  
"So, you are kidnappers. Do you enjoy your work?"

Legolas almost closed his eyes at that and shook his head. All this was as tedious as a council meeting, he was willing to admit that, but he would never go to such lengths to relieve his boredom. Aragorn, however, knew no such scruples. After arguing with him for most of the time, the young ranger had now turned to their abductors for conversation, apparently willing to find his amusement elsewhere.

The answer was quick in coming.  
"Shut up, ranger."

Legolas looked at his human friend, an expression of I-told-you-so-didn't-I-don't-even-think-about-denying-it on his face, but Aragorn was too busy looking at the man he had just addressed. It was the men's leader, Legolas saw, who still looked at the two of them as if they had just stepped out of a very bad novel. There was even a little fear mixed with the apprehension and incredulity, but he didn't even feel pleased about that.

He was just annoyed, nothing more, nothing less. He was getting very tired of all these abductions, kidnappings and ambushes, and the worst thing was that _not one_ of their captors ever got inventive or original! It was always the same, day in, day out. Even before he had met Aragorn he had frequently been involved in these events (even though the frequency of said events had at least quadrupled since that fateful day), and now, after more than 2500 years, it was beginning to become tiresome.

And not only that: It was also beginning to become infuriating.

It was never a good idea to infuriate a wood-elf, and doubly so when he was a son of Thranduil who'd already been having a bad day.

Aragorn, however, seemed bored more than infuriated or annoyed, at least judging by the way he now cocked his head to the side, studying the men's leader. He expertly compensated when his horse stumbled over a protruding root, something that would have sent less experienced men crashing to the ground with their hands bound behind their backs like this, but never took his eyes off the dark-haired man, apparently unwilling to let this conversation end so quickly.

The man, Legolas noted, didn't look happy about the attention at all. In fact, he looked a lot as if he wanted to pinch himself to escape from this nightmare.

"Why should I shut up?" Aragorn finally asked.

The man next to him clearly forced himself not to steer his horse away from what he clearly perceived to be a demented individual. He probably didn't want to lose face in front of his men, even though Legolas couldn't for the life of him say why he even bothered. The majority of the mercenaries looked as if figuring out how many fingers they had on each hand would strain their mental capacities.

"What do you mean, why?" the man asked back. "This is a kidnapping!"

"And?" Aragorn asked. "Does that mean that we have to ride side-by-side without as much as a 'Well, what about the weather, then?'?"

"This is a kidnapping!" the mercenary exclaimed again, either unwilling or unable to specify his meaning.

"You already said that," Aragorn said patiently. "So, this is a kidnapping. And so what? I hate these eternal rides to the evil madmen's hideouts or secret bases or castles or Valar-know-what-else."

"And caves," Legolas interjected. "Don't forget caves. They are quite popular, too."

"True." The young ranger nodded. "And caves, then. My point being," he returned to the earlier topic, "that it's just plain boring. If we talk to each other like civilised beings, it will all be over a lot sooner. And besides, I find it relaxing."

"Relaxing?" the men's leader echoed faintly. His tone of voice stated very clearly that he didn't think that anybody here – and his captives least of all – had the right to relax in any way.

"Yes." Aragorn nodded again. "And it's always better to relax during the ride, what with the torture and mental and physical abuse that is mostly waiting for us when we reach our destination. All of it usually doesn't last too long, but it's such a chore." The other man was opening and closing his mouth, clearly unable to come up with a response to that, and Aragorn smiled at him in a very friendly manner. "So, do you enjoy your work, then?"

"No … yes – what am I doing?" the dark-haired human stammered, apparently honestly clueless. "Shut up! I am not talking to you!"

"Why not?" Aragorn managed to sound truly hurt. "I am just trying to be polite."

"Because!" The man wasn't quite shouting yet, but it was a close thing. His men showed more intelligence, for they kept their horses as far away from the prisoners as humanly possible and were fervently ignoring all they were hearing. "This is a _kidnapping_!"

"Just give it up, Estel," Legolas advised his friend, giving the red-faced mercenary a look of faint loathing. "He won't get farther than that, I fear."

"Oh, come now, Legolas." Aragorn turned to look at him. "You lack faith."

"No, I lack starry-eyed optimism," Legolas corrected him. "You haven't managed to keep up a decent conversation with one henchman. Not one, _mellon nín_. I am sorry, but I think you will have to look somewhere else for witty discourses."

"Will you two be silent?" the leader interrupted them, nearly shouting now. "Do you not understand the seriousness of your situation, elf?" Legolas looked at him, unperturbed, and the man turned to Aragorn. "And you, ranger! Are you insane?"

Legolas snorted, and the man's head whipped around. That just had to be bad for the neck, the prince thought maliciously.  
"A good question, _adan_," he told the man. "There are several theories. Mine says, essentially, that yes." The mercenary gaped at him. "It also includes his family," Legolas added helpfully.

"Legolas is nothing if not considerate." Aragorn nodded. "Of course, if my family ever heard about his … theories…"

"But they never will," the elf interrupted him firmly. "You know better, and he," he shot the dark-haired man a quick look, "is a hired henchman."

"Just what is that supposed to mean, elf?" the man wanted to know.

Legolas arched an eyebrow, apparently greatly surprised.  
"Oh, I am sorry. Did you actually expect to survive all this?"

"What!"

"What he means to say," Aragorn hurried to say, "and, naturally, in a completely non-arrogant kind of way, is that … well…" He trailed off, searching for the right words. "Well, all he wants to say is that the … let's say the minions of the evil megalomaniacs have the tendency to lose their heads."

"Literally," Legolas interjected evilly.

"That doesn't mean that that is going to happen to you, of course," the ranger went on quickly, perhaps prompted by the way the mercenary's face suddenly lost all colour. "Nor do I wish it to happen to you. I have nothing against you personally, after all. Until now, you have been a very nice kidnapper, even though you're strictly speaking only a henchman. Definitely one of the best I've had lately. Do you not agree, my friend?"

Legolas didn't look as if he agreed with a lot the young ranger had said, but he finally gave a dutiful nod. He couldn't care less about this newest mercenary who was dragging them to his master, but if talking to him made Aragorn happy, far be it from his mind to interfere.

"Yes," he said. "A paragon of virtue and kindness."

The man glanced up sharply, and he gave him a bland look. He liked irony, so what?

"The thing is," Aragorn continued, "that my family is a tad overprotective, especially my brothers. Let me give you a piece of advice: When the inevitable great battle comes…"

"…you will be able to recognise it very easily. There will be blood, mayhem, death and all those interesting things. For your colleagues, of course, not on our part."

"Thank you, Legolas. As I said, when the great battle comes, just throw down your weapons and surrender. No matter how annoyed my brothers are, they would never strike down an unarmed man. Evil henchman or not."

"I do not _surrender_!" the man told them, looking very much as if he just couldn't understand what was going on here. Legolas couldn't blame him. He himself had needed half a dozen kidnappings to get used to them. "What in the name of all that is holy are you talking about!"

"Calm down," Aragorn told him, clearly unimpressed. He should be; he had had this conversation a few times already, after all. "I am simply trying to help you. If you want to lose your head…"

"…or other important parts," Legolas added.

"…or other important parts, that is your business and we would not interfere. It's just that ... well, we've been through a lot of these abductions already and they are beginning to get a bit dull, you understand? It would be nice if one thing would change, at least this once."

"And the villains always lose their heads, especially the lieutenants or commanders or captains or whatever ranks the evil overlords are using," Legolas explained. "Elladan – his older brother," he added for the sake of the stunned mercenary, "has become unbearably smug lately. I am sure it is connected to his part in all these distasteful kidnapping attempts."

"I wouldn't be too sure about that, Legolas." Aragorn shook his head doubtfully. "Glorfindel chopped off a few heads as well. You forget that Elladan is being kidnapped frequently as well."

"You might be right," Legolas admitted after a moment of contemplation. "Still," he went on, turning to look at the men's leader, "I would prefer it if you wouldn't get your head chopped off. It might aggravate his condition."

"I … uhm…" the man began, unable to form a single coherent sentence. He would need to ask for more money as compensation, he decided. A lot more money.

"What is your name, anyway?" Aragorn asked, turning back to look at the other man.

"My name?" the mercenary repeated, obviously flabbergasted. This particular expression seemed to be permanently attached to the man's face, Legolas observed. "Why should I tell you my name, ranger? It's none of your business!"

"I beg to differ." The young ranger shook his head, almost looking aggravated. "I have to spend time with you until we reach your meeting point with your undoubtedly insane employer and will probably see you a lot after that as well, at least until tomorrow afternoon."

"Tomorrow afternoon?"

"Well, judging from previous experience, that will be when we will be rescued. At the very latest, that is."

"We could call you '_adan_' all the time," Legolas offered in his typical helpful manner. "Or 'Hey you', or 'Leader of the kidnappers who will soon find himself short of a head', or…"

"Tim," the man said weakly, clearly admitting defeat in face of such unbridled, cheerful insanity.

The two friends looked at each other, clearly perplexed.  
"Your name is Tim?" Legolas asked.

The dark-haired soldier glared at them, stunned confusion now being joined by righteous anger.  
"Yes, my name is Tim. So what?"

"Nothing," Aragorn said quickly. "It's just that…"

"It's such a normal name," Legolas finished his friend's sentence. "You know, usually our captors, and sometimes their employers as well, have the most ridiculous names. Names like Gwaenrufrir or Drelric or Cadolbgin or things like that. I ask you, who would do such a thing to a child?"

"It would make sense if the parents knew that their children were going to be evil henchmen when they grew up," Aragorn mused. "But I would say that that is only true in a small number of cases."

"I have a cousin named Drelric," the men's leader commented. Neither the ranger nor the elf was paying attention to him.

"I would think so." Legolas nodded. "Humans are somewhat less knowledgeable in such aspects than the Eldar."

"And here we go again," Aragorn sighed. "If this is another one of your 'Why Elves are superior to Men in every aspect' speeches, I will ask him … Tim, I mean, excuse me," he interrupted himself, nodding at the speechless soldier, "to gag you. We had a few of those during the last kidnapping, and I do not think I could stand another one just yet."

"I was talking about the other men, not about you, Strider," the elf retorted tiredly, as if they'd had that conversation before. They probably had, too. "You know that."

"But do I believe it? I don't think so."

"You are too distrustful, _dúnadan_," Legolas told him. "You always think the worst of everybody else. It's a very Noldorin character trait, by the way."

No, Tim thought frantically, not this again. He had no idea what a Noldo was and what a Sinda, but he had been listening to an argument about which was more insufferable for two hours. Two. Hours. He couldn't go through another discussion of that sort, not now. And not ever, actually.

Oblivious to the other man's thoughts (not that he would have been interested very much if he had known them), Aragorn gave Legolas a look that very clearly stated that he was missing very important parts of his brain.

"Would you care to enlighten me as to what we are currently doing?"

'Driving me mad, that is what,' the dark-haired soldier thought to himself glumly.

Legolas had another answer, which he uttered with a mocking smirk that was clearly meant for the mercenary who was riding next to Aragorn as if in a trance.  
"According to … Tim here, we are being kidnapped. Considering the number of times he has repeated this, it must be true."

"So, in the middle of a kidnapping, you are telling me that I am too distrustful? In case you hadn't noticed, _mellon nín_, we are being kidnapped every other time we set foot outside of our fathers' realms! And sometimes it even happens inside of them!"

"The only thing that truly bothers me is that they treat us as if we are doing it on purpose every time it happens!" Legolas complained. "Every single time I get the 'Why it is unworthy of a prince of Mirkwood to allow himself to be kidnapped' speech!" He turned to the dark-haired mercenary. "Honestly, did I _allow_ myself to be captured?"

In all honesty, the elf had, but the man would be damned if he admitted that.  
"Do I look as if I am interested in this conversation?"

Legolas peered at him inquisitively.  
"With that beard, it's hard to tell. My guess would be a tentative 'Partly'."

The man gave him a look that was, for all intents and purposes, very similar to Lord Elrond's _look_. Considering that he was a human without any elven blood whatsoever and had never seen the Lord of Rivendell (or, to his knowledge, any members of his family), it was quite a feat indeed.

"Leave the poor man alone, Legolas," Aragorn admonished his friend. He turned to the other man, who seemed to be caught in the mother of all fight-or-flight dilemmas, and smiled in a manner that was probably meant to be reassuring but wasn't. "If you're not used to elves, they can be quite … puzzling. Trust me, I know."

Judging by the other human's expression, "puzzling" was not the word he would have chosen himself.

"You are the one who instigated this conversation, Estel, not me," Legolas retorted. "Do not lay the fault for this on me. _I_ was perfectly happy just riding wherever our friendly abductors want us to go."

"I just don't want this to end like that one time … which one was it … the abduction eight months ago? Tim here being such a nice fellow and all that."

The man in question was looking from one to the other, clearly trying to figure out just who had hit these two over the head when they had been young and – probably – more reasonable. Legolas ignored him as usual – it was the only thing to do with minions in his experience – and rolled his eyes at his friend.

"He _stumbled_, Estel. He didn't jump off that cliff voluntarily. We have been over this a hundred times."

The ranger grinned at him.  
"Of course. He stumbled off that cliff after you had been explaining to him just why the Wood-elves are more intelligent, beautiful, accomplished and plain important than any other race or group of people in Middle-earth…"

"It was a nice conversation. He agreed with me on several points." The elf wrinkled his brow. "I think his name was Commander Lyndoraeng. Or something like that."

"…for eight hours," Aragorn finished his sentence as if the elf hadn't even spoken. "That is enough to drive anyone to suicide."

"I told you, he stumbled."

"Yes, just like the mercenary's leader the last time. Or…"

"A question, please," Tim interrupted them, rubbing his tired eyes and inwardly asking himself how much longer they would need to reach their destination. He had long given up on the notion of him being in charge of this conversation.

"Yes?" the ranger asked with a friendly smile.

"Just how often did you say these things happen to you?"

The answer, delivered in a cheerful tone of voice, made him pale.  
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Exactly one minute before Tim – just what was so funny about his name, the man asked himself for the umpteenth time – snapped, decided that no payment was worth this and strangled the elf and the ranger, they reached their destination. Finally. Most of the men had long ago reached the Thank-the-Gods-I-will-sacrifice-my-firstborn-child-or-in-lack-of-it-my-favourite-chicken-in-gratitude stage.

Those who hadn't had long ago fallen behind and disappeared from view. The dark-haired man strongly suspected that they had stumbled and "fallen" off a cliff.

The mercenary quickly pushed these thoughts from his mind. He would not think about the torturously long journey now, or else he might do something he would be made to regret later, for he would not regret it himself. There was no way at all that that would happen. He didn't know if it was natural talent or if the two had practised to achieve this level of annoying, but whichever was the case, they were highly efficient.

Gods, _he_ was close to jumping off a cliff and he was by no means the suicidal type.

Darkness was falling now, and the men moved cautiously while they got off their horses and led them over to the stable building that had been erected to the left of the largest cave. The elf and ranger were staying where they were, namely on top of their horses, and were eyeing everything with interest and a certain amount of amusement, as if they could see perfectly well and found the sight of grown-up men who almost walked on tiptoe in order not to stumble nothing short of hilarious.

High Ones above, they probably did, too.

The men's leader got off his own mount, handed the reins to one of his soldiers who looked deeply traumatised by this experience, and walked over to the two of them even though his every instinct rebelled against such an action. He might not be the suicidal type, after all, but he had limits.

"You…"

"…will stay here," the ranger finished his sentence and nodded, as if it was a most obvious thing to ask. "Don't worry, we know the drill."

Even though he fought the reaction, Tim's chin once again threatened to drop onto his chest. That the elf finished his thoughts for him was bad enough, but the boy was a ranger and therefore as human as he was. He shouldn't be able to do that, and if he was, he ought to be drowned or beheaded or whatever one did with malicious spirits.

"Don't even think about trying to get away," he threatened, more for show than for anything else. The two beings only smiled at him indulgently while they were being pulled off their horses by two mercenaries each. "You cannot escape."

The elf gave his surroundings an appraising look.  
"I bet we could."

Something snapped inside of the man, perhaps the part of him that had still been clinging stubbornly to concepts like pride and dignity.  
"No, you couldn't."

"Yes, we could."

"No, you _couldn't_!"

"Yes, we _could_!"

"But that is not important since we won't be trying," Aragorn interrupted the two of them and gave his friend a disapproving look. Legolas returned the look mutinously, unfazed by the ranger's unspoken disfavour. Tim just stood as if rooted to the spot, his chest rising and falling quickly and in a way that made the healer in Aragorn start worrying about the possibility of hyperventilation. "I am sure that this is a very good hideout. Even if we could escape – and I am not saying that! – I am sure that it would be very hard."

"Of course," Legolas mumbled under his breath. "It would take us thirty minutes instead of twenty to figure out all the schedules and routines and we would then have to wait an extra five minutes before we made our move. Very hard indeed."

"But we would get mauled by something on the way," Aragorn pointed out. Once again, the mercenary noted, somewhat stunned, this conversation was off to parts he'd no dealings or interest in. "Or get injured or fall off cliffs or nearly drown or things like that. No, thank you, but I will wait for _ada_ and Glorfindel and my brothers to find us."

"You have become complacent, Estel," the elf complained. "I rather miss the old days when we kept trying to escape all the evil madmen out for our blood."

"Well, it's not as if I am against it as a rule," Aragorn explained. "I am just not in the mood for it today, and besides, it would probably inconvenience Tim here." He turned to the other man. "Wouldn't it?"

The mercenary blinked.  
"I … would think so."

"See, then we won't try it. Unless this evil maniac is more insufferable than the norm or things get really boring."

For a short, thoroughly irrational moment Tim had the notion that he should be thanking the two of them. Then, with a small burst of anger and a larger one of annoyance, he shook his head and glared at the two far-too-innocent faces in front of him.

"I know that I have said this already, but are you not aware of the seriousness of your situation?" he wanted to know. "The fellow in there," he pointed at the cave, "is planning all kinds of horrible things and you are talking about things like these?"

"What would you prefer?" Legolas asked acidly. "That we shake in our boots, too terrified to speak or think?" He shook his head. "I am sorry, but if you want that kind of reaction from me, you are about two millennia too late."

There was nothing to be said about that, and so the man gave the two friends a last evil look and turned on his heel after barking an order at his men to keep the two of them here until their employer called for them. The silence didn't last for long, though, for even before Tim had reached the mouth of the cave their voices could be heard again, sounding as calm and unconcerned as if they were sitting in front of a fire and discussing the weather.

"So. A cave, hm?"

"For the last time, Estel, I never said that it _wouldn't_ be a cave."

"No, you just snorted and rolled your eyes."

"But I didn't say anything."

"You don't have to, _mellon nín_. You know, for someone who is living in a cave himself you do have an irrational aversion to them."

"The palace – is not – a cave, ranger."

And they were off again, Tim decided while he disappeared inside the cave. Gods above, he knew that he was only being paid if he delivered them safe and sound and managed to keep them from getting away until his employer was finished with them, but right now, he would have given a nice amount of money to be allowed to strangle them both. And if said employer wasn't so completely and utterly mad, he actually might do it, too.

It took him only a few minutes to reach the cave … room … whatever it was where the being was who would hopefully cover his expenses. It was a large cave with a relatively high ceiling that was brightly lit wit almost two dozen torches. Someone had, probably over quite a long period of time, decorated it, with furniture, rugs, even some books and scrolls and so on. Tim amused himself with imagining how the large bookcases – not to mention the rather strange, light red/pink armchairs that really did look a little out of place here – had been brought here while he waited for his employer to turn around and acknowledge him.

It took him a while. He – being new to all this, after all, and therefore not having any previous experiences as a reference – suspected that people like his employer just had to let you wait; it was just like out of the really bad novels that he had always heard about but never actually read.

He was brought out of his thoughts by movement to his right, when his employer finally deigned to acknowledge his presence. He turned around, but still Tim could see almost nothing of his face. The figure was clothed in dark robes and was wearing a dark hood that was obscuring his face, and the man asked himself just why or how the other thought that this was intimidating in any way. He looked like some sort of hermit-gone-wrong, nothing more. Oh, Gods. He was beginning to sound like the elf and the ranger.

"Did you bring him?" a dark, deep, menacing voice asked.

"Yes," the mercenary retorted and inclined his head. "We found him just outside of the borders, just like you said. There was an elf with him, so we brought him as well."

"What elf?" the dark-clad figure cocked his head slightly to the side.

"A blond one," the man said curtly. "Very annoying, just like the ranger. Very … strange, again just like the ranger. The two are mad. You're sure they're the ones you wanted? 'Cause if you don't, it will be my pleasure to kill them."

"Later, perhaps," his employer told him. "Now bring them here."

Even though Tim couldn't see his face, he was sure that the other was grimacing at him, clearly thinking that he was exaggerating. Ha, the mercenary thought. He had no idea, and they would talk again tomorrow morning after the other had spent some time alone with them. _Then_ they would see who was exaggerating.

"As you wish," he answered obediently. No need to antagonise the one who would be paying him and his men, after all.

No more than five minutes later, he had managed to navigate his way through the cave system and had reached the small group again. The elf and the ranger were still arguing, and the four guards were looking at their superior with looks of almost pathetic gratitude.

"My employer wants to see you," Tim informed his captives curtly and nodded at his men to get the two of them moving.

"Well, of course he wants to see us," the ranger replied somewhat sullenly while he was being prodded into the direction of the caves. The elf had probably been winning the argument, Tim reasoned. "He had you kidnap us. That rather implies that he wants to see us."

"In his defence," Legolas chimed in, allowing himself to be pushed up the roughly-hewn stairs, "he could just have received the order to throw us into some sort of dungeon and throw away the key."

"Oh, do not tempt me," the mercenary growled.

"Ha!" Aragorn exclaimed, a sunny smile spreading over his face. He turned to the men's leader, looking every inch the proud parent. This was ridiculous, the soldier decided. The boy could be his little brother! "See, he _does_ have a sense of humour."

"If you call that humour, _dúnadan_…"

Tim tuned the two of them out. It took him all his willpower and mental control in order not to snap at them or allow himself to be involved in their conversation in any other way – if there was one thing he had learned during this journey, it was that they would never, ever, stop. Nor would they be intimidated. Frankly, he had no idea why his employer wanted them, and equally frankly, he had ceased caring. All he cared about was getting the two off his hands and out of his hair, as quickly as possible.

He was not the only one who was relieved to get rid of the two. The guards who were pushing the two captives from time to time (something which both the elf and the ranger resolutely ignored) couldn't have looked happier if they had been offered a year's pay with a willing woman on top. Or maybe the other way around.

Soon, they had reached the main chamber and had pushed the two of them inside. The four guards, after a look at the two soldiers posted left and right of the opening to the cave, made themselves scarce, and Tim, too, disappeared as quickly as he could. Aragorn and Legolas couldn't have cared less, since they were looking with a sort of weary but friendly interest at the tall, hooded figure in the middle of the cave. The whole set-up wasn't overly threatening, probably at least partly because no place Aragorn could think of looked threatening when there were pink armchairs present.

The hooded figure didn't move, even though Aragorn was sure he was looking at them, and so he finally raised an eyebrow and did his best to look friendly and interested.  
"You called for us?"

"By that he means 'You sent out men who kidnapped us and dragged us here'," Legolas elaborated.

The figure didn't say anything, but finally the being began to laugh, a dark, dangerous laugh. It might have impressed someone with less experience, but Legolas and Aragorn merely exchanged a long-suffering look and waited.

"Yes," the figure finally chortled. "Yes, I 'called' for you. Even though I expected your friend here, not you."

"It's for you, Estel," Legolas told his friend and stepped to the side, as if he was holding a letter addressed to the young man which he had mistakenly opened. "Pay up."

"I would, if my hands were free," the ranger grumbled. He looked at the silent figure with loathing, swearing softly under his breath. "So, what do you want from me? I hope this is something good, because you already lost me ten silver coins."

"All in good time, boy, all in good time," the cloaked figure said, a grin audible in his voice. He pushed back the hood of his cloak, revealing a fair face, dark hair, pointy ears and grey-blue eyes. Aragorn rolled his eyes. Elven megalomaniacs were the worst. They did everything on a much bigger scale and with more style, which could become decidedly annoying. "You are Estel, I presume? What an interesting name, for a human."

"Yes, that's me," Aragorn said cheerfully. He had learned a dozen kidnappings ago that it didn't really matter how you spoke to the evil maniacs; they were mostly far too self-centred and egotistical to care. "Pleased to meet you."

Their captor stared at him for a moment, apparently not having predicted such a reaction. Perhaps this wasn't the boy he had been looking for. As much as he despised Elrond, the half-elf would hardly adopt a dimwit, would he?  
"Lord Elrond's adoptive son? The ranger they also call Strider?" he asked, wishing to make sure.

"You did your research very well," Legolas stated, sounding faintly impressed. "Not many evil maniacs do. Do you need me?"

"I … what?"

"Do you need me?" the fair-haired elf reiterated, a noncommittal look on his face. "You want to talk to Strider, apparently. So do you need me?"

"Who _are_ you?" the dark-haired elf asked. He looked at Legolas' green and brown attire and his expression clouded over like the sky before a storm. "A wood-elf?"

"Very good," Legolas told him in a sarcastic tone of voice that even the most idiotic person would have found hard to miss. "Legolas of Mirkwood, at your service." He returned his attention to the armchairs in the far corner. "Say, are those comfortable?"

"Yes," the elf responded automatically. "Legolas of Mirkwood?" he repeated, confusion giving way to dread. "King Thranduil's son?"

"That would be me." Legolas nodded, looking only partially interested in the conversation. He turned and gave Aragorn a smile. "I will be waiting over there."

Without another look at Tim's employer he wandered off into the direction of the armchairs, eyeing the furniture and décor he passed on the way with interest. He might even have whistled a little. The dark-haired elf tore his eyes away from the retreating back of the son of the only remaining elven king of Middle-earth and returned his attention to the young ranger in front of him, who was eyeing him with a preoccupied expression on his face. The boy didn't even look as if he was afraid, he noted sourly.

"So, _Estel_. Welcome to my humble abode. I am afraid I cannot offer you more … comfortable lodgings, but you have your precious _ada_ to thank for that. If you are really lucky, I will let you see him before the end just to that purpose."

Aragorn shook himself out of his stupor.  
"Huh? Oh, yes, that would be really nice."

"Am I boring you, boy?"

His father hadn't raised him to be a liar, Aragorn decided in a split second, but then again he hadn't raised him to be impolite either.  
"Oh, no. Not at all. You have my undivided attention. Please, do keep speaking."

"If I am not boring you," the elf began, his voice sounding not nearly as jovial as in the beginning, "then why are you staring at me like that?"

Aragorn looked actually flustered for a moment. This kidnapper had acted actually rather pleasantly until now, but he had long ago learned that appearances were often not all there was to a person. Especially in his world.

"Well, you know…" he began. "It's just that I have been kidnapped a few times and, sooner or later, things begin to form certain patterns."

"You have?"

"Oh, yes. Quite a few times actually. I think I can safely claim that I know almost everything there is to know about kidnappings. It's just that you…"

"That I what?"

"It's just that I have been asking myself who exactly you are. I don't know you – or at least I think that I don't know you – which means that you must be after my father or the twins, probably out of personal reasons. You could be after someone else, of course, but Legolas is right here and you haven't shown any real interest in him and who else could it be? I guess that Glorfindel would care about what happened to me, at least to a certain degree, but that is about it.  
The only problem is that you really aren't the type of people that usually go for my father, because, on the one hand, you aren't insane enough – you know all those things like insane sparkle in the eyes or incontrollable urges to chuckle maniacally – and don't really look the part either, and, on the other hand, these types usually are involved in the kidnapping personally. It gives them a better opportunity to gloat and twirl their moustaches threateningly, if they do have moustaches, of course. You can't really be after Glorfindel either, because those maniacs usually go after Erestor to get to him. And Erestor himself is too much of a scholar to have made any real enemies, even though I have the feeling that I will come to regret that assumption sooner rather than later." He took a deep breath after having said that almost without pause and smiled. "So, would you care to enlighten me? I really would appreciate it, because I _am_ rather confused at the moment."

The elf stared at him in slack-jawed surprise. Soon, however, the surprise turned to astonishment, as if Aragorn had just stated the strangest thing he had ever heard.

"You mean he didn't tell you? Ha, I cannot believe it! Are you trying to say that your oh-so-perfect _ada_ told you nothing about it? Oh, this is wonderful, this is priceless! The wise, the _revered_ Lord Elrond Peredhil of Imladris fails to mention his oldest and most dangerous enemy to his _beloved_ foster-son…"

And then, the genius behind Legolas' and Aragorn's kidnapping doubled over laughing, struggling to draw in breath and babbling about Aragorn's impending death, his unlucky fate of having been chosen as the foster-son of such a deplorable elf, Elrond's doom and his lack of faith in him.

Aragorn watched him for several minutes in disgust before he turned away, cast an envious look in Legolas' direction and looked for somewhere to sit down.

If he knew anything at all, this would take a while.

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_yéni (pl. of yén) (Q.) - elvish unit of time, equivalent to 144 solar years  
hîr nín (S.) - my lord  
pen-neth (S.) - young one  
gwanur (S.) - (twin) brother  
ada (S.) - father (daddy)  
mellon nín (S.) - my friend  
adan (S.) - man, human  
dúnadan (S.) - 'Man of the West', ranger_

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A little note: If anyone's name should be Drelric or any of the above, or if they are the authors of stories which feature characters of the same names, I hereby apologise. I made the names up and meant no offence. Even though you have to admit that they are funny names. •g• And "Tim" is of course an homage to Monty Python, what else? All right, stay tuned for the next chapter, with the inevitable showdown and a few other things that are too insane to be mentioned in polite society. As always, reviews help and encourage me and should make it easier having to leave Spain behind. Or that's the theory. •g• Thanks!**

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**Additional A/N:**

**As always, I will send out the review responses via a big group email. So, don't forget to either log in before leaving a review (and making sure that there is an email address listed on your profile page) or leave me your email address in an anonymous review. Both ways work reasonably well, or rather as well as anything works when FF-net is involved. •g•**

**Because of this, I have to apologise to Kalmiel and Dragonborncrystal (no email address to be found on the profile page) and Lemuriangirl, Viggoisagod and Jinx (anoymous reviews without email addresses). Sorry about that!**


	3. Madness As Usual

**Disclaimer: **For full disclaimer, please see chapter 1.

**A/N:**

**Sorry for the delay, guys. Life is insanely chaotic at the moment. I am staying at my brother's place and am annoying him the tiniest bit (poor guy) and am looking for a flat. The problem is that my future flat mate is doing an internship on the other side of the country, meaning that I have to look for it alone. Which is not as easy as it may sound, considering that we both have to like it. We're finicky, too. •grimaces•**

**Oh, and they also lost one of my bags when I came back from Madrid. Again, can you believe it? How bad can someone's luck be? And this time they don't seem to be finding it. I have been trying to find it for two weeks now, and no one can tell me anything. All my favourite clothes were in there, all the necklaces, earrings and stuff that I bought and all the good-bye presents from my flat mates. It's just stuff, I know, but I am really heartbroken at the moment. Plus, I don't know how much compensation I am going to get (if I am going to get any), and I have to replace some summer clothes and stuff because I will be going to Turkey on Monday. I have to buy another bikini and I already have three! Or rather, had three. •grr• Yep, welcome to my life. •hangs head•**

**Anyway, here's is the next (and last) chapter. I hope it's still funny - I am not feeling too cheerful at the moment. So, Aragorn is stuck with a repetitive maniac and eventually loses his temper, Legolas has a nice little chat with Tim, Elrond cheerfully scares henchmen, Tim is close to losing his sanity, the mercenaries decided that they've had enough and Elrond and the kidnapper have the inevitable stand-off. Everything's just like it ought to be.**

**Have fun and review, please!**

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Chapter 3

"I will make him beg! I will make him rue the day he was born!"

Legolas did his best to stifle a yawn. He didn't really know why – there was no one here to see him – but his parents hadn't raised him to be impolite. In fact, his parents had raised him to be polite no matter what, at least in public. Here, however, his attempts might have been for nothing. The evil elf who still had to give them his name was still rambling about just what he would do to Lord Elrond once he got his hands on him. Aragorn had, sometime very early into the other's monologue, sat down on a large chest and was looking extremely bored. The two of them would hardly notice anything.

And he, Legolas finished his trail of thought, was still trying not to fall asleep. He knew from experience that it was hard to pay attention when someone rambled on and on and _on_ about impending doom and death, but it was especially bad when said someone was addressing someone else. He should be a good friend and keep paying attention to this latest madman who had now been describing for almost two hours how he would kill the half-elven lord, but this time, he found it very hard.

He was not the only one, though. Aragorn was quite clearly daydreaming, and was only then and again making noncommittal sounds like "Hm", "Yes", "Clearly" and so on. He couldn't blame the young human. Listening to evil madmen could be really annoying.

"You hear me? He will crawl on his knees and beg me for death!"

"Hm."

That was apparently enough for the madman to keep going, and Legolas returned his attention to the upholstery of the armchair he was sitting in. It was an old chair, slightly pink but very comfortable, and if this and the entire setup was supposed to be some sort of torture, then the other elf was even crazier than he looked.

Then again, he looked very crazy already. Honestly, who else but a crazy person would repeat the same sentences over and over again when his audience clearly wasn't interested in anything he was saying?

Politicians and councilmen, he quickly reasoned, but he had the feeling that this elf was in fact neither.

Legolas yawned again and belatedly toed a bright white stone over to the right, where a small mountain of stones was already waiting. Similar heaps of red-grey and black stones were also visible further to the right, along with a larger mountain of mixed stones to his far left. An empty stone jar was on his left, which Legolas hadn't touched at all, of course. It had simply "fallen", as had so many other things over the years.

He eyed the small white heap with interest. Twenty-seven stones. That wasn't bad, considering that the mad elf had spent the first hour enumerating all the reasons why Lord Elrond was evil incarnate and deserved to die. He hadn't really understood any of his reasons, but it had mostly revolved around the half-elf being "arrogant and blubberish", whatever those two words were supposed to mean in this particular context and combination.

"What are you doing, elf?" a voice behind him asked, sounding very much as if its owner didn't really want to know.

Legolas turned around lazily, deciding that these armchairs really were great. Even though his hands were still tied behind his back, he was feeling very comfortable. If there hadn't been the small problem of an evil megalomaniac talking incessantly in the background and them being stuck in a cave in the middle of Valar-knew-where, it might have been a rather nice evening.

Just as he had expected, somewhat to the left of him stood Aragorn's current favourite mercenary … Tim, yes, that was it. The ranger was horrible in this regard; if he saw something or someone that he regarded as "nice", he seized his chance and tried to "connect", whatever that was supposed to mean. Legolas sighed softly. He was worse than Celylith sometimes.

"Sitting," he finally answered, not even bothering to keep his voice down. There really was no need; the elf was still going on and on about whatever it was that he was talking about at the moment. "There seems to be nothing else to do."

The man took a step closer.  
"What in the name of all the Gods are you doing?"

Legolas ignored his question and kept his eyes on the other elf, disgust laying itself over his features.  
"And you work for _him_?"

The mercenary looked at the object of the bound elf's attention and had to admit that his employer _was_ as mad as a hatter. But then again, so were this elf here and his ranger friend who was right now looking as if he was dozing.  
"You two are still alive?"

Legolas gave him a look of renewed loathing.  
"I really hate to ask you this, but does _any _of your senses work the way Eru intended it to? You know, hearing _or_ sight _or_…"

"Funny, elf, really funny," Tim ground out. The man liked him apparently as much as he liked him. "I am surprised, that's all. I had expected him to kill you long before now."

"Oh, you really _are_ new at all this," the fair-haired elf told him, faint loathing and amusement mixing in his voice. "You really have no idea how these things usually work, do you?"

In a split second the man decided two things, namely that he had liked the ranger a lot better and said ranger had been right: This one _was_ arrogant.  
"But you do?"

"Of course I do," Legolas said, as if he was stating the most obvious thing in the world. "I have been through a few of these kidnappings, and if there is one thing I have learned, it is that the evil megalomaniacs _always_ like to talk, without exceptions. I think that is why they become evil megalomaniacs in the first place, so they can talk and have people who have to listen to them."

The man didn't know whether it was the stress of the past few hours or some sort of mysterious mental illness, but all this was actually beginning to make sense to him. It was something that scared him profoundly.

"This one," the elf went on, leaning back into his armchair as if he was having nothing more than a friendly chat with an acquaintance, "is a bit more annoying than most, I have to admit that, but he is hardly exceptional. There was another one … when was it … a year ago or so, and he talked about our impending doom and the manner of our deaths for over seven hours. In the end, I was close to snapping."

"I know exactly what you mean." Tim smiled at him in a way that looked not at all friendly or genuine.

If Legolas noticed the sarcasm, he was very good at hiding it.  
"Don't mind him," he advised the mercenary. "He will calm down, sooner or later. Or so I hope, because I absolutely refuse to spend the rest of the night like this."

"That's why I am here," Tim told him. "To bring you to your … room for tonight." A thoroughly evil grin spread over his face. "Then again, I think I will wait a bit yet."

The glare Legolas shot him would have fried even the brain of a Nazgûl. Fortunately for the soldier, however, the elven prince's attention was soon diverted by movement to their left, where the dark-haired elf had once again begun to wave his arms around in wild, unsteady arches.

"He will regret having ever crossed me! I will make him beg!"

Aragorn, rudely awoken from his light slumber, started and shook his head.  
"Oh, yes. Of course," he muttered, blinking quickly.

The elf looked at him for a moment, clearly contemplating if he was being mocked, but soon returned to what was far more important to him: Continuing his monologue.  
"I will make him watch while I slowly kill you. Maybe I'll cut off your fingers first, one by one by one."

"That's always nice." Aragorn nodded somewhat absent-mindedly, already looking as if he was drifting back off to sleep.

"And then, when he has watched that and couldn't do anything to stop it, I will kill him. No, I will make him beg me to kill him, and then I will perhaps grant his wish."

"I'm sure it will be spectacular."

And the dark-haired elf was off again, but Tim barely noticed. He couldn't help but stare when the elf next to him nudged one white stone, a grey-red stone and a black stone over to the right where they joined the small mountains already heaped up there. The man looked at the fair-haired being as if he had taken complete leave of his senses, but then again, no one would have noticed. It was an expression he had been wearing since early this afternoon, after all.

"I know I asked that at least once before, but are you out of your mind?"

Legolas looked at him as if he was seriously contemplating that.  
"Honestly, I don't really know. If you were to ask … certain people, I am sure you would hear at least partly affirmative answers." The man looked at him with wide eyes, and he frowned. "Oh, I am sorry. Was that supposed to be a rhetorical question?"

Tim looked at him in a way that very clearly stated that he considered him a mad, thoroughly disconcerting individual that should rightly be beaten to death with a twelve-inch-thick branch or drowned in a barrel of hot water or be brought to death in an equally exotic manner.

"You are sitting – with your hands bound behind your back – in a cave…"

"In a pink armchair," Legolas interjected. "How intimidating could that be?"

"In a cave," the man repeated, looking rather frazzled. He was, contrary to Aragorn, apparently not used to being interrupted mid-sentence. "In the company of a madman who is going on and on and on about your deaths. And what are you doing? Playing with rocks!"

"I am not playing with rocks!" Legolas retorted, sounding mortally offended. "I am an elf! We do not play with rocks! We have built cities out of them and have shaped them into great monuments and artwork before your kind first awoke!"

"So you're building a city, are you?" the mercenary asked. Legolas decided for the first time that Aragorn just might be right and that the man was developing a sense of humour.

"Of course not," Legolas shook his head disdainfully. "I am counting."

Tim, who could neither read nor write but knew very well how to count (how else could he ensue that he and his men would be paid?), looked from the stones to the elf and back again in utter confusion. A moment later he quite clearly decided that the fair-haired elf was mad and not worth thinking about and shook his head, which Legolas ignored, however. The elven prince had now reached such levels of boredom that even a conversation with a disinterested henchman sounded very tempting.

"He will regret having ever met me!" The dark-haired elf's voice sounded behind them, and Legolas unthinkingly moved another grey-red stone over to the right.

"I am sure about it."

So Aragorn was still awake, Legolas thought almost amusedly. He could still remember the one time the ranger had actually fallen asleep in mid-tirade. Their captor had not been happy about it. But no, the young man looked still alert enough, and so Legolas returned his attention to the speechless man next to him.

"White is for 'I will make him beg'," he explained. "Red-grey is for 'He will regret having ever seen me' or things like that. Black is for death threats."

Tim stared at him in consternation, trying to wrap his thoughts around what the elf had just said. After a few moments, it began to make some sort of weird, perverse sense.

"You are counting … death threats?" he asked faintly, suddenly feeling the urge to sit down in the empty armchair next to the elf.

"Yes," Legolas replied, as if that was the most natural thing in the world to be doing for an elf in his position. He frowned when he saw the man's incredulous look. "What? I was bored. There was no one to talk to. Why should Strider have all the fun?"

Strider did not look as if he was having fun. Strider looked in fact as if he was having the worst time in … well, since his last kidnapping, and the patient long-sufferance which he had displayed in the beginning was beginning to fray around the edges. Tim decided in a split second that he could understand him, and for another half-second he was even tempted to interrupt his employer under the pretence of having to take the two maniacs to their cell.

Sanity returned to him just as quickly. He wasn't here to help the two of them; he was here to bring them to their cell! And besides, he didn't even want to help them!

"You are killing me, elf," he muttered softly, not even noticing that he was speaking the words out loud. "You and that insane friend of you."

"Oh, no," Legolas said. "Weren't you listening? We won't kill you. That's what Strider's brothers are for." He wrinkled his brow. "Then again, Lord Glorfindel could do it as well. If you are really unlucky, though, Lord Elrond himself might come. Then you'll be in _real_ trouble."

"What, more trouble than being killed?"

"Oh yes." Legolas nodded fervently. "Trust me, being killed isn't the worst of evils. Tomorrow afternoon, when Lord Glorfindel comes to rescue as, you can ask him about it. Being dead is, according to him, only boring, nothing more." The man stared at him, and he added, quite obviously annoyed about the soldier's slow-wittedness, "He died in the First Age."

"He died in the … whenever."

"Of course." The elf nodded again, as if that was the most logical thing to say. "But he came back." Tim looked at him as if he had turned into a three-legged, pink, talking oliphaunt who was demanding that he step dance. "In his defence, it was a balrog that killed him." Tim failed to look sufficiently impressed, and so Legolas added, inwardly rolling his eyes, "A demon from the Deep. A fire-demon in the service of the Dark Lord Morgoth."

Tim didn't say anything. Legolas decided that telling humans this kind of story who had no idea what he was talking about wasn't really diverting or entertaining.

"Be that as it may," he continued, deciding to ignore the silent man, "Having to face Lord Elrond in a huff is far worse than just dying. He hates kidnappings, you know."

"I am beginning to sympathise with that sentiment."

"Well, they can be somewhat entertaining," Legolas conceded, not even listening to the human, "but only from a scientific point of view. I am thinking about founding a new school of science, Abductology or something like that."

Tim gaped at him. Legolas decided that among the man's ancestors there must have been a fish or two.

"I have been thinking about it a lot," he went on, conscious of the fact that he would most likely never again get such a chance. Aragorn and the twins only rolled their eyes at him when he mentioned his idea, and he wouldn't tell his father or Lord Elrond for all the mithril in the world. "It could be taught at the great universities of Gondor. I am sure it would be very useful for a lot of people."

"You will both die in agony! I will cut you into little pieces and then he will have to watch while I rearrange you!"

Legolas frowned slightly as he heard the elf's voice behind him. He looked at Tim, who looked back at him, an empty, blank look on his face that did not look becoming in the slightest.

"That was an interesting one," the wood-elf commented to no one in particular, but in the end nudged two black stones over to the right.

"You will?" Aragorn spoke up, seemingly waking up for the first time in several hours. There was undisguised interest in his voice. "Really?"

The dark-haired elf frowned at that, but still answered.  
"Yes."

"Oh, good, then." The man smiled at the elf in a manner that would have looked appropriate in a different setting, for example during a nice afternoon tea party. Now, however, it just looked out of place and slightly demented. "Just leave my spine where it is and we'll be fine."

Their kidnapper wasn't paying the ranger's words any attention. It was probably a good thing, too, Legolas decided, since most evil madmen took it personal when they were being mocked, interrupted or ignored during their monologues. He watched for a moment longer to make sure that Aragorn hadn't made the other elf angry – apparently he hadn't, for he was once again prattling about hot pokers and finger traps and Eru alone knew what else – and then turned back to Tim, who looked very much as if he had been working on a secret or perhaps an open plan to escape from here as quickly as humanly possible.

"Where were we?" he asked innocently, pretending not to hear the whimper the man couldn't suppress. "Oh, yes. So, I am thinking about giving classes. I am not sure if it's a proper thing to do for a prince of Mirkwood, but … well, I would like to give it a try. My father will find out eventually, yes, but until then it might be somewhat amusing."

"Prince?" was all the man said, a hollow, echoing sound in his voice.

"Oh, yes, didn't your employer mention that?" Legolas asked, sounding very amused indeed. He was getting used to this reaction. Most hired henchmen really had no idea just whom they were kidnapping, which was rather short-sighted in his opinion. "My father isn't as scary as everybody thinks him to be. He is just … well, you could call him a big, fluffy teddy bear, I think. A big, fluffy teddy bear that happens to have a temper to rival Fëanor's and hundreds of loyal, blood-thirsty, battle-hardened warriors at his disposal, but still."

"Ah." Tim didn't say more, not that he would have needed to. There was nothing more to say to this, after all.

"As I said," Legolas went on, "I might teach Abductology. Perhaps I will pick a different name, but then again, I do like it." He didn't ask for the man's opinion, which was probably a good thing. Tim was looking right now as if he was one step away from fainting or running away as fast as his legs could carry him. "I even have thought about a program. You know, like a sequence of courses that each pupil would have to complete successfully in order to pass."

The man whimpered almost soundlessly. Legolas ignored him.

"I was thinking, for the first year, about studies I would call 'How to handle the average abduction'," the elven prince elaborated. "It would consist of ten different classes, like 'The importance of looking dashingly handsome in even the most stressful situation', or 'Bound riding for beginners', or 'How to get the evil maniac to share his nefarious plans', or 'Top ten excuses for having been abducted in the first place', or…"

Tim's whimpers had become more audible, and so Legolas trailed off. He looked at the human, clearly puzzled but also wickedly amused, and arched an eyebrow.

"Are you not feeling well, _adan_?"

The whimpers stopped, and the mercenary looked at the elf out of wide, scared eyes that were full of incredulity and something that could have been called almost hatred.

"Perhaps you should sit down," Legolas went on and nodded at the other pink armchair next to his. "These are really surprisingly comfortable. It is a rare thing, to find a comfortable armchair in a madman's house … cave … whatever."

The man did sit down, but more because he couldn't keep his feet any longer. This was insane! The elf shouldn't be so completely and utterly mad and at ease with his surroundings, he should be cowering in fear in some corner or other! The ranger shouldn't be humouring his insane employer in so obvious a way, and his employer shouldn't be so oblivious to all this!

And he, he concluded tiredly, should have listened to his mother and become a scribe.

"How much does he pay you, anyway?" the elf asked him, sounding as if he was desperate to keep this conversation going.

Without even thinking, Tim told him. Legolas gaped at him for a moment before he started chuckling softly and shook his head.  
"Oh, I see. You _are_ new at this, and no doubt about it."

"What are you talking about?" Tim asked tiredly. He had long stopped trying to infuse these questions with interest or disgust or indignation.

"Well," the elf started to explain, leaning back into his armchair, "it's just that usually henchmen get paid more. I honestly don't know if it's just in our case or in general. You are being cheated, henchman. I mean, Tim."

Tim was about to tell him that he didn't care about what he thought, but then he closed his mouth again because he realised that this wasn't even about the money, at least not anymore. He didn't care about the money. He just wanted to get rid of these two, before they got him or his men killed or drove him to insanity.

Before he had to figure out what to tell the elf, the dark-haired elf's voice could be heard again, sounding fresh and unflagging and not at all as if its owner was beginning to tire.  
"I will make him beg! He will scream and cry and crawl on the floor…"

"Uh-huh."

Aragorn's responses were becoming less and less articulate, which just might have been enough to catch the elf's attention.  
"Are you even listening to me, boy?"

The ranger's head shot up and he nodded quickly if somewhat unconvincingly.  
"Oh, yes. Beg and scream. Crawling on the floor. I hear you."

Tim almost didn't see how the elf added more stones to his ever-growing heaps for he closed his eyes and leaned his head against the soft back of the armchair.

Yes, this was going to be a _long_ night.   
**  
** **  
** **  
**  
The morning had dawned bright and beautiful and had turned into an equally bright and beautiful day. There were a few clouds on the horizon, but the slight breeze that also kept the temperature from getting too hot and stifling was slowly but surely moving them away.

Not one of Tim's men had had a restful sleep, though. Those who hadn't been on guard duty had been afraid that they might be called on guard duty, and those who had just returned from guard duty were so traumatised by the experience that they could neither sleep nor speak nor, in some cases, move.

None of them understood just how the elf and the ranger had survived as long as they had. It was impossible to say how old the elf was, but the ranger couldn't be much older than twenty summers. How in the name of all the Gods had he managed to reach such an august age when he was clearly as mad as a hatter? And the elf was hardly any better. None of them had ever seen anyone who was so clearly insane and got away with it.

When their leader had come to them this morning, he had looked quite literally like death warmed over. His dark hair had been lank and stringy, his eyes had been wide and frightened and most were sure that only the man's dark beard was hiding a horrified expression. No one could blame the poor man. He had – or that was what they thought, because no one would ever think about questioning Tim about this – spent most of the night in the company of the ranger and the two elves. It was a miracle that he could still string more complicated sentences together.

Be that as it may, Tim had – with sloppy, rather uncoordinated movements – pointed at five soldiers and told them that they would ride to the appointed meeting place and pick up the elf lord. The five men had basked in the envy of their peers before they had disappeared into the direction of their horses as fast as their legs could carry them. Their leader had looked too far gone to be able to change his mind quickly, but none of them had wanted to chance it.

No matter what happened, the elf lord couldn't be worse than the elf and the ranger. It was simply impossible. Or at least everybody hoped it was impossible, because none of them was ready for the possibility that it _wasn't_.

But now, Vadoulynrir decided, all that didn't matter. They had managed to get away from the caves with their limbs and their sanity (mostly) intact, and they were waiting for the elf lord to show up. And even if he didn't show up, none of them would complain. The longer they could stay away from their insane prisoners and their equally insane employer the better.

"D'you think he's going to come?" one of the other men asked.

"Oh Gods, I hope not," another one commented. "If he doesn't come, we can stay here."

It was a sign of how worn-out they all were that the thought of having to stay all day long next to a dusty crossroad, where there was neither food nor drink nor any interesting company at all, looked more than a little bit appealing. The other four men, their informal leader Vadoulynrir included, nodded fervently.

One of them, the smallest and by the looks youngest of them, nodded especially hard. He was even paler than the rest of them who, by all means, would have fitted perfectly well into a group of ghosts at the moment, and his hands were still shaking from time to time without him even noticing. It was no wonder, as all the mercenaries agreed unconditionally. The poor boy had been forced to stand watch last night for over four hours – directly outside of the main cave. The Gods only knew what the boy had been forced to witness.

"Yes," the young man managed to say in-between almost violent nods. "Great Ones, yes. I am _not_ going back there." He looked at the others beseechingly. "You won't make me, will you?"

"Well," Vadoulynrir began, "We will have to go back sooner or later."

"I can't!" the boy exclaimed. His eyes were wild and frightened. A charging oliphaunt couldn't have made a bigger impression on him than this particular prospect. "You have no idea what I had to listen to all night long! I can't go through that again!"

"Come now, lad," one of the other men tried to comfort him. "If … I mean when," he corrected himself quickly when he saw the younger man's increasingly panicky look, "_when_ the elf lord arrives here and we bring him to our employer, he will kill all of them. We'll be rid of them once and for all."

"No!" The young man shook his head. "No! I won't risk that! What if he changes his mind? He's mad, after all, so that's very well possible!"

Vadoulynrir nodded. There was some sense to that, after all. Still, he didn't know what would happen (if one trusted the elf or the ranger, something that involved blood, death and mayhem), but he did know that there couldn't be any more guard duty for the boy. He was only one step away from losing it.

"All right, lad," he told the nearly frantic man. "We'll ask Tim to keep you away from them at all times. I am sure that he will see the sense of not assigning you to guard duty again."

The young man looked incredibly grateful and actually ran up to Vadoulynrir and hugged the startled mercenary. It took two other men almost five minutes to convince him to let the older man go. It didn't startle any of them; after more than four hours of guard duty they would have done a lot of strange things as well, up to and including hugging a man like Vadoulynrir.

"Thank you!" the younger man mumbled, almost sobbing. "Thank you! I will never forget this, never!"

Vadoulynrir frantically nodded at the other two men who were leading the boy over into the shade. If they'd had some camomile tea, they would have crammed it down his throat. They were discussing possible alternatives when hoofbeat could be heard, already very close to their position. They were whirling around, feeling unreasonably guilty, and almost came face-to-face with a very big grey-white horse. It took their eyes a while to trail up the animal's face and neck, and when they finally did, they regretted it, because they saw a dark-haired elf who looked more than a little bit peeved.

"You are the kidnappers?" were the first words out of his mouth.

The men looked at each other, clearly at a loss, until Vadoulynrir remembered that he was the impromptu leader and nodded.  
"I think you could say that…"

"Wonderful," the elf cut him off. "Let's get moving. I have an appointment with the council today at the sixth hour. I would hate to be late."

Vadoulynrir felt how his chin almost dropped onto his chest.  
"Are you … are you Elrond?" he asked, wanting to make completely sure.

The elf gave him a look that very clearly stated that that was a very stupid question.  
"Who else would meet here with you at the tenth hour?"

"Well," Vadoulynrir began, "I don't…"

"Do you have something for me?" Elrond went on, looking impatiently at the five humans in front of him. These were indeed amateurs, he decided. Pathetic.

"Something…?"

"A token," he explained. He wistfully remembered the abduction five months ago; the men had been professional and taciturn and had in the end given up without too much trouble. That had been a reasonably pleasant kidnapping. "Something that proves to me that my son and his friend are still alive."

The men looked at each other, clearly clueless.  
"Uhm … no," one of them finally admitted.

The elf gave them look that conveyed that he considered their collective intelligence barely above that of a millipede. The men glanced at each other uneasily.  
"Should … should we have?" Vadoulynrir asked.

Elrond actually rolled his eyes. He knew that this was most un-elf-lordly behaviour, but he had ceased caring a long time ago. Glorfindel and the rest of his warriors were too far back to be able to see him clearly, and these men clearly had no idea of … well, anything. And besides, after spending the night in a mixture of mild worry, annoyance and anger, he simply did not have the patience to deal with amateurish kidnappers.

"It is part of your duties," he told the humans curtly. "_You_ bring me proof that the two of them are still alive and then bring me to your master, _I_ agree to come with you without giving you any undue trouble and pretend not to plan your most gruesome deaths. That is how these things are done."

"Whose father are you again?" one of the older men asked, cocking his head to the side in obvious interest. The ordeal they had all been through had made him somewhat indifferent to the elf's threatening aura. "The blond one's, surely?"

"No, the ranger's." Elrond shook his head. "Strange, I know, but…"

"Oh, no," the man shook his head. "I believe you. I don't care about how and why, but you're his father, that's for sure."

"Insane, just like the boy," another man commented so softly that only the ears of an elf could hear him. "This actually explains a lot of things."

"I am sure it does," Elrond said, smiling in a way that looked both fake and rather disconcerting. "So, how do I know they are still alive? It is common practice to let them live, and be it only so that the evil madman has someone to gloat in front of while he is waiting for me to arrive, but you _are_ new to this. I will not trust you to know of or adhere to the usual rules."

"Well," Vadoulynrir began, frantically trying to come up with something, "we haven't been given anything by our leader. I am sorry, elf, but you will have to trust us."

Elrond only looked at him.  
"Do you have _any_ idea how many times I have been asked that by some villain or other?"

"Uhm … no."

"More times than even I can count." The dark-haired elf crossed his arms over his chest, deciding that these people wouldn't recognise a rhetorical question if it walked up to them and introduced itself by name. He looked at the men's clueless and slightly frightened faces and grinned inwardly. This might actually become entertaining. "So, you do not have anything that would prove to me that my son and his companion are still alive. You could be making all of this up."

"Making all of this up?" The youngest member of the group had jumped to his feet, eyes blazing with indignation and incredulity. "Why in the name of all the Gods would we be making this up! For our own entertainment? Do you have any idea what I have been through last night? What I had to listen to? What I had to watch?" He shuddered and wrapped his arms around his chest. "They are … mad…"

"It's all right, lad, calm down," the oldest man said, wrapping an arm around the boy's shoulders to comfort him and glaring darkly at the elf lord. "They're gone. Don't worry. You will not have to return to your post…"

Vadoulynrir looked at the elf, who returned the look with a raised eyebrow that demanded an explanation. Then again, perhaps he was simply laughing about them; one could never tell with these elves.  
"He had to stand guard duty outside of the main cave where our employer was talking to the two of them. He's feeling a little … off."

"Off?" the boy nearly shrieked. "I had to listen while the elf explained to Tim all the reasons why…"

"Ah!" Vadoulynrir held up a hand. "No! No more information is needed!"

"But it was horrible!" the younger man went on. "He was talking about something called 'Abductology' and was going on and on and _on_ about it while the mad elf kept repeating the same words over and over and…"

The oldest man of their little troop pulled the boy away, back into the direction of their horses, all the while talking to him in a quiet, soothing voice. Vadoulynrir looked after them for a bit before he turned back to the elf who merely looked at him expressionlessly.  
"As I said – off."

Elrond cocked his head to the side. The elf was enjoying all this far too much, the man decided darkly.  
"So they have not been harmed?"

Vadoulynrir chuckled in a somewhat shaky way.  
"_We_ haven't harmed _them_, elf. _We_ haven't done anything to _them_."

"I believe you."

The elf's words startled the man, and his head shot up.  
"What?"

"I believe you," Elrond repeated. "You have my son and his friend. I have seen this kind of reaction too often not to recognise it." He quirked an eyebrow in amusement. "It is rather common."

A part of Vadoulynrir felt very comforted by that. Another part felt that all this was going horribly wrong.  
"We'll take you to our employer, elf. Your weapons."

The man decided immediately that no one should be able to raise his eyebrows to quite that height.

"I didn't bring any," Elrond told them, loathing once again laying itself over his features. "What do you think I am, an amateur?"

It was clear that Vadoulynrir would have chosen a different name for him. In the end, the man contented himself with glaring darkly at the elf who studied him in obvious and perverse amusement.  
"I don't care what you are, elf. Our orders are to bring you back to our employer and that is what we will do."

"I have been trying to get you to do that for twenty minutes now!" Elrond exclaimed. "I don't have all day, so if you would…"

Vadoulynrir glared at him again but turned around and motioned his men to get the horses. The two obeyed without question, obviously more than happy to escape from this particular conversation.  
"Don't move," the man advised the elf. "You wouldn't get far, trust me."

The dark-haired elf looked at him condescendingly. The mercenary decided that looking menacing was hard when your victim was at least a head taller than you and sat on a horse that would have been tall enough to serve one of the High Ones.

"Why would I move?" Elrond asked in a long-suffering tone of voice.

"What do you mean?" Vadoulynrir asked, suddenly beginning to understand why Tim had looked the way he had this morning. Dealing with elves just wasn't worth the trouble.

"I came here out of my own free will," Elrond elaborated, sounding very bored. "Well, actually I came because someone had threatened my youngest son and his best friend with death and doom – again – but that is beside the point. So, you told me to come here and meet you so that I may be taken to them and would be able to have the inevitable face-off that the evil megalomaniacs so _love_ to have. Why would I want to move when this is the only way to get this whole unpleasant affair over with in a reasonably timely and civilised manner?"

Vadoulynrir frowned as he thought about that. It sounded reasonable, but then again, it was an elf that was talking. He didn't trust elves, hadn't before all this, and would never again if the way this was going was any indication at all.

"In order to … well, escape?" he finally hazarded a guess.

Elrond closed his eyes and exhaled. Then, after having forced himself to accept the fact that these men were apparently as intelligent as the average jelly fish, he raised his head again and gave the man the same look he would have given an idiot child.  
"What is your name, henchman?"

"I wish you people would stop calling us that."

"It's what you are. Answer the question."

"I don't see how it would be any of your business," the mercenary began, but quickly added when he saw Elrond's truly dangerous look, "My name is Vadoulynrir."

"That figures," the elf mumbled under his breath. "Where do they find these people?" he asked no one in particular.

"What do you mean?" Vadoulynrir asked. He wasn't sure about it, but he suspected he should feel insulted.

"Listen to me, Vadouringir…" the elf began.

"Vadoulynrir."

"As if it matters," Elrond waved his comment aside. "Do you know what I have been through these past few hours?"

Vadoulynrir very much doubted that it had been worse than what all of _them _had been through these past few hours.  
"No," he finally admitted. He wasn't afraid of the elf, of course, but he was willing to admit that he looked just the tiniest bit frightening when he stared at you like this.

Elrond took a deep breath, ignored the fact that yet another rhetorical question had been answered and nodded his head.

"Let me tell you, then," he began very slowly and very, very calmly. Anyone who knew him – Glorfindel included – would have recognised the mood he was in at the moment and would have started running into the other direction as quickly as their legs would carry them. "It all started yesterday afternoon, when the news reached me that my carefully laid plans had been ruined by my beloved foster son, his friend and your employer." He leaned forward in his saddle, his eyes boring into the man's. "I had spent weeks coming up with something that would keep them out of trouble, and you ruined everything. Can you imagine how I feel about that?"

Vadoulynrir gulped openly. It was clear that he could.

"Then," Elrond went on, "I had a discussion with my sons – my other sons," he explained. The mercenary looked horror-struck at the idea of there being any more sons of this particular elf. "They were making bets on the outcome of all this, and I couldn't even join in because Glorfindel was standing right next to me, and so was Erestor. They would never let me hear the end of it if I did something like that."

The man nodded, as if he understood perfectly well what the other was talking about.

"And after that, I had to listen to Glorfindel trying to calm me down for most of the night." He narrowed his eyes at the soldier. "Do I look as if I was disturbed or having problems controlling myself?" This time, Vadoulynrir did not answer and merely opened and closed his mouth. "No matter," the elf lord went on. "I hate it when people try to calm me down. It doesn't help anyway."

Vadoulynrir didn't know who this Glorfindel was, but found that he admired him immensely for even trying.

"And then," the elf went on, almost causing the mercenary to start weeping, "I was chased through the courtyard by the horse of my son's friend. It is big and white and thoroughly evil, and has apparently taken its master's disappearance personally and decided to fault _me_. Me! Do you have any idea how _humiliating_ it is to be chased through your very own courtyard by an insane horse that is intent on biting you in the … well, in certain parts of your body?"

Under different circumstances, Vadoulynrir might have found that amusing or at least mildly disturbing. Now, however, all he could do was shake his head mutely.

"I wouldn't have thought so," Elrond said scathingly. "These things seem to happen only to me. Be that as it may, I've had a bad evening. And a bad night. And a bad morning. My point is that I have no patience to deal with the idiocy of you or your men. I will come with you and face this newest insane madman responsible for this … farce. So, please do not take it in any way personally when I tell you that I will have to hurt you severely and repeatedly if you do not start moving soon."

Vadoulynrir would almost have asked him with what – he had no weapons, after all – but then he decided that he'd rather not know. Belatedly he realised that the elf was still waiting for an answer and so he cleared his throat, only just stopping himself from casting a desperate look over his shoulder.

"Are you … threatening me, elf?" he finally asked. He realised too late that there was the not-too-small possibility that the elf would say yes and that he had no idea what to do then.

The elf didn't look disconcerted at that question. He didn't even look as if he had truly listened to him. If anything at all, he looked bored.

"No, of course not," he said in a tone of voice that clearly suggested that he just wanted to get this over with. "I am stating a fact, but you don't really care about that, do you? Then again, what would I know about anything? I am only one of the Wise and possess the gift of foresight, but is anybody listening to me? Ever? Of course not! I don't even know why I still bother, I should just…"

"All right!" Vadoulynrir exclaimed, gesticulating frantically. "All right! We will leave now!"

"Right now? You've said that before, henchman. I don't really know if I can trust you."

"Yes! Right now!" the man confirmed and whirled around, quickly beginning to walk into the direction of the horses. He wouldn't wait for the others. There was no way at all he would wait for the others.

He would get this elf to Tim and let him deal with him. That would probably be enough to rob his superior of the rest of his sanity, but, by the Gods, that wasn't his problem.  
**  
** **  
** **  
**  
They had never made it to the cell his men had prepared for the elf and the ranger. They had never even made it out of the room … cave, whatever it was where his employer was talking about death and doom and blubberish elf lords. Oh, and dismemberment. That seemed to have become a favourite of his.

Not that he couldn't understand that, of course; the two prisoners' mere presence was enough to drive anybody to the brink of a homicidal rage, dismemberment included. Not that that would intimidate or even disturb the two beings in question. They were acting as normally and unconcernedly as if all this happened to them on a daily basis.

Tim was beginning to suspect that it did happen to them on a daily basis. Somehow, that realisation didn't scare or surprise him nearly as much as it should.

The man's thoughts automatically returned to the night that had just ended a few hours ago, and, with a shudder, he forced that particular train of thought to stop, turn around and go back the way it had come. If he never thought about all this again, it would be too soon. And the next person who mentioned the word "Abductology" in his presence would find himself losing a limb. No, make that two, minimum.

Tim rubbed his forehead with tired, jerky movements. A headache of the likes he had never known before was pounding behind his temples in rhythm with his heartbeat, and somehow he couldn't see that stopping soon. He shot a quick look at the far-too-bright, far-too-cheerful-looking sun. If his judgement hadn't been severely impaired by all this – and he was too realistic a man to dismiss that possibility outright – he would say that it was about the eleventh hour, maybe even closer to the twelfth. The elf lord would be here soon – if he came, that was.

He would have understood it if he didn't come. He supposed that the elf was somewhat attached to the two of them, but every being had his or her limits. The elf lord's would have been reached several years ago.

The mercenary knew he should return inside, but he simply couldn't. He had escaped only a few hours ago when he had had to send some of his men to fetch the elf lord. He couldn't have said whom he had sent; he had been far too traumatised at that time to notice anything at all that wasn't connected to setting one foot in front of the other and not losing his sanity. There had also been the almost irresistible urge to start hopping up and down and squawking like a duck, but he had resisted it – until now. Another hour in the ranger's and the two elves' company and that might change, though.

"Are you going back in?" a voice behind him asked, and Tim slowly turned around, not unhappy about the interruption at all. The longer he stalled here, the less time he would have to spend with his employer and their insane captives.

"Yes," he answered the man that had asked the question. "Yes, I am."

He made no move towards the interior of the cave. The other man gave him a confused look and raised his eyebrows.  
"I am only asking because there is a problem with the guards."

"What a surprise." By now, Tim was very good at conveying sarcastic disbelief. "With whom are we not having problems at the moment?"

"Well, technically…"

"I don't want to hear it," Tim told him firmly. "I – do not – want – to hear it. It would be a lie anyway. So, what kind of problem are we having with the guards?"

"Well," the other man repeated. He looked flustered, as if he didn't really want to talk about this. "You see, Tim, there are some … concerns."

"Concerns?" his superior repeated, wide-eyed. "Concerns? I can tell you what kind of concerns we are having at the moment! Our employer is stark raving mad and our captives even more so! And, if the two of them are to be believed – which, in this regard, I do not doubt, even though that means that I am even madder than them – there will be a horde of elves turning up soon, bent on cutting off our heads. Or talking us to death, if their," he nodded into the direction of the cave, "behaviour is anything to go by. What more concern do we have?"

"The guards have gone on strike."

That stopped Tim's tirade as quickly as a blow to his forehead.

"They have gone on _what_?" he asked. He wanted to be angry at somebody but found that he didn't have the energy or even the will for it.

"On strike," the other repeated. "They have made a list of demands, have chosen a spokesman and want to talk to you."

"They can't go on strike!" Tim exclaimed, feeling how his headache turned into a full-blown migraine.

"Technically speaking, they can. We are not part of any guild, so there is no policy nor institutions binding us to anything."

Tim fixed the other man with bloodshot eyes.  
"And you are the spokesman, I take it."

"In a manner of speaking." The older man nodded. Tim glared at him. "Well, yes, I am. It is nothing personal, you see, but now with the elf and the ranger and everything…"

"What do you want?" the other man interrupted him.

"Not much," the strikers' spokesman assured him quickly, recognising the first signs of homicidal madness when he saw them. "Just your assurance that nobody will have to stand guard outside of the main chamber. Ever again."

"Well, somebody has to!" Tim was losing his patience.

"But not us!" the other man retorted heatedly. "I have ten men over at the stables who swear that their brains will explode if they have to deal with the two of them again!"

"And that is my problem … how?"

"I believe them!" the older man exclaimed. "It could happen!"

"No, it couldn't."

"Yes, it could."

Tim was about to repeat his earlier statement when a sudden thought struck him. Dear Gods above, he was beginning to behave just like the elf. He groaned inwardly. If he hadn't had such a horrible headache he would have started looking for a cliff to "fall" off of right this moment.

"I was _inside_ the cave for most of the night," he said finally, as a last try to lead this conversation back onto more reasonable grounds.

"Yes, we know, sir." The other man nodded his head and tried to hide the look that fairly clearly stated 'And you can see it, too.' Still, there was something between awe and wonderment on his face that Tim would probably have found gratifying under different circumstances. "And we are not saying that any of this is your fault…"  
"Of course not." By now, Tim was also good at conveying sarcastic condescension.

"…but you _did_ accept this particular job," the other man went on.

"How could I have known?" The dark-haired man exclaimed, waving his arms. "How in the name of all the Gods could I have known! There aren't … It shouldn't… Things like them shouldn't even _exist_."

The older soldier couldn't contest that. It was quiet for a few moments before he opened his mouth again.  
"Still," he reiterated, "if you don't want morale to drop to new lows, I would strongly suggest that…"

"I don't have time for this," Tim told him, shaking his head. "I have to go back inside so I can lose the rest of my sanity, if possible before the elf lord and his warriors show up to kill us all."

The other man clearly thought that it was far too late for that, but he was either too polite or too intelligent to say it.  
"But I was told…"

"Don't worry," the dark-haired mercenary assured the soldier. "As you said, their brains will probably explode. People whose brains have exploded cannot hold you accountable for anything."

Before the other could say anything to that, he had turned around and entered the caves, almost moving at a running pace. He didn't really know what was happening, but everything was going from bad to worse to abysmal. If he didn't know any better, he would say that he was simply dreaming all this. Tim actually sighed at that idea. A dream – that would be a wonderful solution. A harmless dream he could wake up from…

It quickly became clear that it was not a dream, however. When he was nearing the main cave (which was no longer guarded by anybody), a slightly hoarse, but still strong voice reached his ears, speaking words he had heard only about a hundred times before.

"He will die, do you hear me? Die like the cowardly dog he is, lying on the floor before me and begging for his life!"

There was no answer. Tim supposed that even the ranger's energies had been depleted; not even he could make meaningless comments for almost twelve hours without the smallest break. Even though he should have known better (and a part of him actually did know better), he closed – with the firm, uncaring steps of a man who knew that he was doomed to die in the next hour or so – the distance between himself and the cave and stepped over the threshold.

The scene was essentially the same he had fled from earlier today: The dark-haired elf was still on his feet, walking up and down in front of the young ranger. He looked a little bit paler than last night and there was the tiniest hint of dark bags under his eyes, but the same were still bright and alert and just as insane. The ranger, however, was looking as if he was reaching the ends of his patience, if the scowl on his face was anything to go by. There was slight stubble covering his cheeks, slighter than most men's would have been after more than a day of not shaving, and he looked tired and angry and very annoyed. His fair-haired friend looked just the same as yesterday, namely beautiful, haughty and incredibly infuriating, but also very, very bored.

That was something Tim couldn't understand, and it was something that vexed him more than a little bit. The fair-haired being had almost succeeded in driving him to insanity last night, so the least he could do was look a little bit pleased.

"He will regret having ever crossed me, that I will make sure of! I will kill you in front of him and there will be nothing he can do about it…"

The fair-haired elf, Tim noted, had stopped counting. There were three heaps of stones of almost equal height in front of the elf's now vacated armchair, but no fourth, mixed one any more. It seemed that he had run out of stones before the other elf had run out of death threats. The ranger's friend had changed his position and was now sitting on the armrest of the other armchair, the one closer to the other two occupants of the cave. He was dangling his legs and kicking them idly against the side of the chair, only pausing now and then to roll his eyes and blow strands of fair hair out of his eyes.

The ranger was still sitting on the chest he had chosen earlier, even though he was not moving at all. He was quite clearly silently fuming, something Tim could even understand. His employer, perhaps puzzled by the continuing silence, shot the ranger a quick look before he continued, waving his hands for good measure.

"I will make him…"

"Oh, for Eru's sake!" the ranger finally exploded, his head shooting up. "Shut up already, will you!"

Tim, who had been about to walk over to the dark-haired elf to inform him that the elf lord would be arriving soon and that he would have to guard his two prisoners alone since his men had gone on a completely unauthorised but very understandable strike, stopped in mid-step. He hadn't just said that, had he? Unarmed, bound men faced with insane megalomaniacs were not supposed to react like this.

The dark-haired elf seemed to have the same problem, for he was simply staring at the ranger in open-mouthed surprise. The other elf didn't look too surprised and only leaned back against the armchair, an expectant smile on his face.

"I've had it with your threats!" the ranger went on, jumping to his feet and glaring at the dark-haired elf in a way that Tim found highly disconcerting. "They are unoriginal, stupid, repetitive and completely unrealistic! Can you really not come up with anything more interesting than 'I will make him beg'? I mean, honestly, just think about it for a second! We are talking about Lord Elrond Peredhil here, son of Eärendil and Elwing, Lord of Imladris, ex-herald of the High King Gil-galad of Lindon and brother of the first king of Númenor! He can trace his ancestors all the way back to Finwë himself! His great-great-grandmother was one of the Maiar and he descends from both Sindarin and Noldorin royalty, with a bit of Vanyarin thrown in for good measure! He is married to the only daughter of Lady Galadriel and Lord Celeborn of the Golden Wood! He would have had the right to claim the title of High King after Gil-galad's death if he'd only wanted to, and you want to threaten this elf? He faced the sons of Fëanor when he was a mere child, saw more death and destruction than most elves twice his age, saved Eregion and all of Middle-earth a few times almost single-handedly and fought the Dark Lord himself, and _you_ want to make him beg? He can hardly stand saying thank you to a wood-elf! Why don't you try something more realistic, like trying to fly or correctly pronouncing the names of your henchmen?"

This was it, Tim decided calmly and somewhat gleefully. He would kill the ranger for this, hostage and planned torture or not. If one could believe the fair-haired lunatic – and he was inclined to do so in this regard – then a comment like this was something that not even the most insane megalomaniacs tended to let go unpunished.

"_What_ did you say, _dúnadan_?" his employer asked predictably enough. Tim couldn't quite decide whether he really sounded incredulous or was just doing a really good job pretending. "_You_ dare lecture _me_, who I have been alive before even…"

"…'your first worthless ancestor had been born who was not even worthy bringing me my morning tea before your honourless _ada_ robbed me of what was rightfully mine' etc. etc.," Aragorn finished the elf's sentence, rolling his eyes. "I know that you do not believe my kind to be overly intelligent, but please give me _some _credit. I understand things when they are repeated to me fifteen times."

"How dare you!" the dark-haired elf shrieked. Legolas suppressed a bored yawn. "I can end your life with a snap of my fingers! You will regret having ever crossed me!"

"I don't believe this," Aragorn said, disgust evident in his voice. "Here we go again."

"Why, you impertinent human whelp!" the other screeched. Tim shook his head, trying to get rid of the ringing sound that was persistently clinging to his inner ear. "I will make you beg before I kill you!"

Pealing laughter interrupted whatever it was that he wanted to say after that, and everybody turned around to look at Legolas, who was ducking his head and swallowing the sounds of merriment that were still escaping him. If he'd had a hand free, he would have covered his mouth in embarrassment.

"I am sorry," he ground out, hiccupping slightly. "Please, continue. I just couldn't hold it in any longer."

The dark-haired elf's face slowly began to take on the colour of sun-ripened grapes. He stormed over to where Legolas was sitting and stopped just in front of him, his chest heaving and his eyes blazing in his pale face. The wood-elf remained totally unaffected.

"I don't care who your father is," he hissed at the other elf. "If you cannot hold your tongue, you will share the fate of your friend and his adopted father."

"Oh, I am keeping out of this," Legolas told him. "This one is Estel's kidnapping, not mine. But I have to agree with him: You _are_ awfully repetitive."

"You will regret this," the dark-haired elf threatened, taking another step closer to the completely unimpressed prince. "I will cut you into little pieces, starting with your pretty hair and then working my way down…"

"Oh, you really shouldn't have said that," Aragorn said, a certain malicious glee detectable in his voice. The rest of him just sounded highly amused. "No one threatens Legolas' hair and gets away with it."

"Oh, I would be careful if I were you," the elven prince told his smirking friend. "He might threaten _you_ to have you take a bath."

"I will kill you both!" the insane elf yelled, in Aragorn's opinion unnecessarily loudly. "You will crawl on the ground and beg me for death!

"Is he even listening to a single word we are saying?" Legolas asked.

"I doubt it, _mellon nín_."

Tim was seriously afraid of where this might be leading, but just in this moment one of his men came running into the chamber, panting and wild-eyed. His wildly moving eyes swept over the cave and finally came to rest on the pale face of his superior, and he practically flew over to him.

"Tim! We are being attacked!"

"About time," the ranger commented to his friend.

"They are late." Legolas nodded thoughtfully. "Well, not late per se, but I really had expected them sooner. Elladan is getting sloppy."

"Don't blame this on my brother," Aragorn told him sternly. "It might have been Glorfindel's fault, and you are more than welcome to discuss this matter with him once we see him."

Tim, displaying a level of practice that seriously worried him, ignored the two of them.  
"Who is attacking us?"

"The elves, sir," the other man panted. "Vadoulynrir and the others were escorting the elf lord here, but suddenly there were more and they started attacking the guards and…"

"Elrond is here?" the dark-haired elf asked, grasping the man's arm and whirling him around. There was an insane light shining in his eyes that Tim would have found frightening only yesterday. Now, it was anything but. "Right here?"

The man looked at him as if he was completely mad.  
"If he is the tall, dark-haired elf with the bloody sword in his hand who demands to see his son, then yes."

"That's him," Legolas and Aragorn said simultaneously.

"Take me to him!" the elf demanded. "Now!"

The man looked at Tim who started shaking his head vigorously. The elf didn't even seem to notice and, after a quick look at his two captives, stormed off, into the direction of the entrance of the cave from where the faint sounds of fighting and steel clashing against steel could be heard. Tim, shaking his head in disgust, motioned for the other mercenary to get the elf to his feet while he grabbed Aragorn's arm, and a moment later the two soldiers were pushing their captives into the direction into which their employer had disappeared only a moment ago.

"Remember what we told you, Tim," the ranger told him in a friendly tone of voice. "If my father is here, you are in real trouble. And if the twins find you…" He trailed off and winced, before he added in a low voice, "They don't always chop off heads, you know."

"No?" Tim asked, a surreal feeling once again sneaking up on him.

"No," Aragorn shook his head. He looked genuinely distressed. "Sometimes, they also chop off other body parts. When they're really annoyed, you see."

"No," Tim said curtly. "I don't. And, in the Gods' name, don't bother explaining it to me."

"Well," Legolas immediately chimed in, "they are really protective of Estel here, you see? There was this one time a bit more than a year ago when…"

Thankfully this was the moment when they reached the entrance to the cave. Outside, on the large lawn in front of the cave system, a small battle was going on that just looked the tiniest bit strange. The men – his men, Tim corrected himself absent-mindedly – were fighting a large group of elves as best as they could and were not having a very good time of it. They were pale and shaking and uncommonly jittery, while their elven adversaries looked bored more than anything else. Some of them also looked annoyed, but the vast majority looked as if they were doing this far too often for it to be interesting in any way.

There were in fact several elves to which the other man's description could be applied (most of the elves were tall, dark-haired and armed with bloodstained weapons), but Tim quickly saw who this Elrond had to be, for his employer was pushing his way over to one elf who was fighting to the left of the entrance. There was an insane intensity on his face.

"Peredhil!" the dark-haired elf called, waving his sword in what he probably thought to be a menacing manner. "At last we meet again!"

Elrond thrust the hilt of his sword into the face of the man he was fighting at the moment and turned around, keen grey eyes sweeping over the elf's figure. This was the elf the mercenaries had been talking about, he guessed; even in this part of Middle-earth there couldn't be that many elven maniacs out for his or his family's blood. A moment later he looked the other elf in the eye and raised an eyebrow, giving him a look that clearly stated that he was in the middle of something and did not appreciate being disturbed.

"Do I know you?"

The dark-haired elf's mouth fell open.  
"What do you mean, 'do I know you'? I will crush you like the vermin you are, you…"

"Listen, whoever you are," Elrond said impatiently, absent-mindedly grasping a man's arm, whirling him around and slamming him into a tree. "I do not have time for this. I have a council meeting at the sixth hour and Erestor will have my head if I am late. I don't know you and I do not care to know you; all I want is my son and Prince Legolas back safe and sound. You have three seconds to drop your sword before I kill you. I've had a rough day, so trust me when I tell you that I'll do it."

"'Whoever you are'?" the dark-haired elf shrieked. "You ruined my life, Peredhil! You took everything from me I ever loved! I swore revenge!"

"Do you have any idea how many people do that?" Elrond asked, his voice filled with distaste.

"I swore that I would kill you!" the other elf went on, ignoring the half-elf's words. "I wrote you hate letters every New Year!"

"Oh, that was you?"

"'Oh, that was you?' _Oh, that was you?_ I will kill you for this!"

He was taking a deep breath, probably in order to keep insulting the Lord of Imladris, and took a few steps forward, waving his sword threateningly. Elrond rolled his eyes and brought his sword up, and the two blades met with a resounding clash. Before the swords had connected more than twice or thrice, a third figure suddenly appeared from out of nowhere, pushing the two of them apart. The dark-haired elf whirled around and attacked his new foe, but within seconds the thing that had to happen did happen: After a quick slash a body crumbled to the ground while the once-attached head bounced over to the right, past a very annoyed-looking half-elf.

"Was that really necessary?" he asked, looking at the far too innocent-looking fair-haired elf in front of him.

"Oh, I am sorry, my lord," Glorfindel said, doing his best to look contrite. "Were you not done with him yet?"

"I don't even know who he was," Elrond grumbled. "Then again, it is of no importance. I find that I have ceased caring about the evil madmen at least five kidnappings ago."

Glorfindel shot the by now still head a quick look.  
"I don't recognise him. Then again, my friend, you do seem to attract them like a honey pot attracts flies."

Elrond looked at him incredulously.  
"Did you just call me a honey pot?"

Glorfindel shrugged and turned slightly to give one of the mercenaries that were rushing up to them an arctic glare. The man, who had been about to seize their apparent moment of distraction, quickly thought better of it and all but tiptoed away to disappear around a tree. The blond elf quickly made sure that their men were holding their own – which was not too hard if one considered their opponents' state of mind (Aragorn and Legolas had apparently been their usual, charming selves) – before he turned back to Elrond with a smile.

"I would never do that, my lord," he told the dark-haired elf. "Never. I would be too afraid of your lady wife."

"True." Elrond nodded and casually pushed a man to the side, right into an elven warrior who dispatched him easily enough. "Sometimes I am, too, no matter how much I love her. She _is_ Galadriel's daughter, after all." He shrugged and began to walk into the direction of the cave, where Mr. I-swore-that-I-would-kill-you had come from. "Let's get the two of them, shall we? I have had enough of this."

"After you, my lord," Glorfindel told him and smiled. He quickly began to follow the other elf over to the caves, completely ignoring the battle around them. Elrond looked better than this morning – a little bloodshed could do wonders for one's mood – but he was not willing to take any chances. These half-elves could get vicious when they were feeling off.

"I cannot stand kidnappings, Glorfindel," Elrond told the golden-haired elf while they pushed their way through the mêlée. "I simply _hate_ them." Glorfindel was spared a very obvious answer to that by Elrond himself, who stopped for a second, scanning the fighting beings around him, and then, when he spotted the face he had been searching for, called out a name. "Captain Elvynd!"

The thus addressed elf neutralised the man he had been fighting – it was Vadoulynrir, Elrond noted absent-mindedly – and hurried over to them, looking strangely apprehensive.  
"My lord?"

Behind the dark-haired captain, two identical faces appeared right and left of him, looking torn between amusement and annoyance. Elvynd turned around, nearly jumped out of his skin (these two could move far too soundlessly, he decided) and smiled nervously. The two of them ignored him and looked at Elrond, and Elladan raised an eyebrow almost as professionally as his father.

"So, where are they?"

"And who was that?" Elrohir added, nodding into the direction of the headless body. "Well done, Glorfindel. For someone who doesn't chop off any heads at all, you did that very professionally."

Glorfindel mumbled something under his breath that sounded highly uncomplimentary and vaguely like "Go kiss a warg", and Elladan grinned at his brother.  
"True. Not quite as professionally as I do it, but still." He ignored the fuming elf lord and looked at Elvynd who looked back at him with wide eyes. There was a truly dangerous gleam in his eyes that could also be seen in his father's, and Elvynd blanched considerably. "So, Captain, have you already found my troublesome brother and his equally troublesome friend? After you let them get away in the first place, of course?"

Elvynd didn't even bother repeating what he had said a million times, namely that the warriors that had been with Estel and the prince were not of his guard and had never been of his guard. He only looked at the twin with large eyes, trying to fight down the unreasonable urge to run and hide.  
"I am important."

"I am sure you are," Elrohir smiled at the warrior. Elvynd had been saying that quite often lately, the Valar alone knew why. "Still, there still remains the question of…"

"Elrohir," his father said in a warning voice, "if you are not silent right now, I…"

"Excuse me!" a voice behind them all but yelled. The five elves turned around slowly and came face to face with Tim. Only a few days ago this much elven attention would have frightened the man, but now it only awoke in him the powerful resolution not to let them succeed and drive him to madness. "Which one of you is Elrond?"

Given that four of them were dark-haired, it was a fair question. If the fact that a henchman was talking to them like this surprised anyone, they certainly did not show it. Then again, who knew just why henchmen were doing the things they were doing? Around them, the fighting was dying down, and Elvynd seized this chance to escape under the pretence of having to get the situation under control.

"I am," Elrond finally said curtly. "Who are you?"

"That doesn't matter," Tim answered. "I have something that belongs to you, it seems."

He turned and motioned at the mouth of the cave, where Aragorn and Legolas were standing side by side. If their faces were anything to go by, they were deep in earnest conversation. The soldier guarding them was standing as far away from them as possible and looked very pale and only one step away from dropping his weapon and running away. It also didn't look as if it was the fighting that scared him.

Elrond gave the two of them a quick look to make sure that they were unharmed and turned back to the man, his eyebrows raised.  
"What are your demands?"

"Demands?" Tim repeated almost dumbly. "I don't have any demands. What are you going to do with my men?"

"That depends," Elrond retorted. "Did you hurt the two of them?"

"No."

"You didn't torture them?"

"_We_ torture _them_?" Tim laughed. "The other way around would be more appropriate, Master Elf."

"You didn't maul them? Or had them mauled by something?"

"We don't even have dogs."

"You didn't cut off some body parts? That would be unusual, but you can never be too careful."

"No!" Tim exclaimed, looking positively horrified. "What kind of people do you think us to be?"

"No drowning or near-drowning?" Another headshake. "No cuts or burns or bruises or slow-acting poisons?"

"No."

"Fast-acting poisons?"

"No!" The man protested. "They are right as rain. We didn't touch them."

"Did 'F' over there touch them?" Elladan wanted to know, nodding into the direction of the dead kidnapper. Or rather into the direction of his head.

"No." Tim shook his head. "Are you Elladan?"

"Yes," the twin answered, surprised. "How did you know?"

"I've heard about you," the man retorted, absent-mindedly opened his sword belt and handed over his weapons to the twins. "Here. No need to cut off my head. Gods above, I don't think it would make any difference at this point."

Elladan accepted the blades as if that was the most normal thing in the world. Perhaps it was; Tim didn't know and refused to think about it. Elrond watched him, slight disdain on his face that was only tempered by the fact that this henchman was doing something original and somewhat refreshing, and returned his full attention to him.

"If what you say is true, nothing will happen to your men. As usual, we will leave you here when we leave. However," he went on, "if we ever meet any of you inside the borders of Rivendell again, we will have to kill you slowly and painfully."

"That sounds fair," Tim said curtly. "Trust me when I tell you that none of my men will ever again set foot on your lands. Or," he grimaced, "anywhere where there could be elves. Or rangers. Or a combination of the two."

"Estel and Legolas strike again," Glorfindel mumbled. Elrond only glared at him.

"What do you want, then?" Elrond asked suspiciously. "What is this, an attempt to exact ransom? If I do not do as you say, you will order your man to kill them?"

For a moment, the dark-haired mercenary only stared at him. Then, however, he started laughing so hard that he almost lost his footing and collapsed onto the ground. It wasn't a happy laugh, though; it sounded more than a little bit panicky and desperate.

"No!" he finally gasped. "No, nothing like that!" He didn't mention that he seriously doubted that the guard would be physically and mentally able to do anything but drop his weapon and beg for mercy if it came to having to make a decision. "All I want is your assurance that you will take them with you and never come back." He looked at Elrond with earnest, almost wild eyes. "Promise me that!"

"You don't want ransom?" Elrond frowned.

"No!"

"You want nothing else at all?" Elrohir clarified.

"For the last time, no! I just want you to take them and leave us alone!"

The four elves exchanged a quick look and shrugged simultaneously. Elrond was the one to answer, nodding his head curtly.  
"All right. You give me my son and the prince and we will leave immediately."

"Thank the Gods!" the man breathed and frantically gesticulated at the guard standing next to the elf and the ranger.

The man nodded, unsheathed a knife and quickly cut his captives' bonds. A moment later he ducked back into the cave, leaving the two of them outside rubbing circulation back into their hands and wrists, but quickly showed up again, three knives and their respective sheaths and belts in his hands. He thrust the weapons into Legolas' hands and turned around, running down the roughly-hewn stone steps as quickly as he could. Tim would have been willing to bet that he would reach the stables, saddle a horse and ride out of this glade all within a minute or two.

Aragorn and Legolas looked first at the weapons, then at each other and finally shrugged. Fastening the belts and sliding their blades into their respective sheaths, they ambled over to where the four older elves were waiting for them, all but tapping their feet with impatience. While they were drawing closer, their conversation began to filter over to Elrond and the others, still clearly audible even despite the loud noises and shouts around them.

"…your fault, _mellon nín_," Aragorn told his blond friend. "I told you not to forget about him, but would you listen?"

"Be silent, Estel," Legolas said mildly. "I clearly said 'Elladan or Glorfindel'. It is not my fault when your hearing is so poor that you miss half my sentences."

"You said Elladan would chop off his head." Aragorn shook his head. "I heard you."

"I didn't."

"Yes, you did."

"No, I didn't."

"Yes, you did! I am _not_ getting into this now."

"Suit yourself. I am still not paying you."

Aragorn grumbled under his breath, but did not get the chance to reply anything since they reached the others, and even their unbridled cheerfulness could not withstand the collective glare of four seriously displeased elf lords. The young ranger swallowed convulsively and smiled at his father, who in turn looked back, not looking in the least bit impressed or placated. The fake smile still firmly in place, Aragorn turned and nodded at Tim who merely looked at him as if he considered him a thoroughly demented being. Mind you, he probably did.

"So," he said in a friendly tone of voice. "You handed over your weapons. A smart choice."

"A safe choice," Legolas corrected him. "Afraid to lose a few body parts, weren't we?"

Tim only smiled at him in a way that would have made his late employer jealous.  
"I never want to see either of you again."

"Why?" Aragorn asked, sounding truly offended. "What did we do?"

"And we had such nice chats, too," Legolas added, shaking his head in mock sadness.

"Nice? Chats?" the man repeated incredulously. He stared at the two of them and sharply turned around, shaking his head and beginning to walk over to where his men had gathered. Before he turned left to join the other mercenaries who were waiting behind a small copse of trees (either to avoid the sun or to avoid having to look at the elves), he stopped and turned around, clearly searching for words and finally only coming up with "You two are mad! Mad, you hear me?"

Aragorn watched the other man disappear in the shadow of the trees and narrowed his eyes at his retreating back.  
"We have been over this!" he yelled after him.

"Don't mind him, Estel," Legolas said comfortingly. "He is a little stressed at the moment. I am sure he didn't mean it."

Before the ranger could retort something, the sound of someone clearing his throat could be heard, and with an inward groan the young man turned back around and smiled nervously at his foster-father.  
"_Ada_ – I can explain everything."

"I am sure you can." Elrond nodded benevolently. "I am sure you can. Did they hurt you?"

"No, my lord," Legolas answered, lowering his head respectfully. "We are fine."

"No broken bones, burns, bleeding wounds, poisons or cuts?"

"No, _ada_," Aragorn echoed his friend's words. "Nothing like that. We are all right."

"Good," Elladan chimed in. "You owe me fifteen silver coins, Elrohir."

Elrohir swore at his brother in an obscure dwarven dialect and looked somewhat pleadingly at his human brother and the wood-elf.  
"Was he really an evil madman?"

The two of them exchanged a look and Aragorn finally nodded and shrugged.  
"Yes, I'm afraid he was."

"Ha!" Elladan exclaimed. "Fifteen silver coins, Elrohir."

The younger twin grumbled but began to search his clothing for the money, but Elrond ignored him. Before one of the two could even blink, he had reached out and grasped one of Aragorn's arms with the left hand and one of Legolas' with the right and was pulling them over to where Elvynd and the rest of the warriors were waiting for them.  
"You two are coming with me. You still have about three hours to get maimed by something, and I will _not_ have that!"

"Yes, _ada_," Aragorn answered obediently. He didn't really know what his father was talking about, but he would be damned if he asked him.

"And once we are home you will explain to me in simple words just why you disobeyed my orders again and how you managed to get yourself kidnapped!"

"Yes, _ada_," the man repeated. He turned his head and smiled at Elvynd as he was being pulled past him, giving him a nod of greeting. "Elvynd."

"I am important!" the young captain retorted earnestly.

"I am sure you are," Aragorn unconsciously echoed his brother's earlier words. He turned and looked at Glorfindel. "What…?"

"Don't ask," the golden-haired elf said and shook his head.

And so Aragorn didn't and allowed himself to be pulled into the direction of the horses. It was silent for a few moments, but when they passed a rather familiar head that looked rather out of place without its body, he spoke up.  
"_Ada_? Who was he? I never got around to asking what his name was."

Elrond shrugged.  
"I haven't got the slightest idea, my son. I haven't got the slightest idea."

It didn't really matter, after all, at least not to them. Even while they walked back towards their horses, Aragorn trying to explain to his father just why he had been kidnapped and Legolas wisely trying to keep out of it, they knew that this would probably happen again. And, knowing their luck, a lot of times, too.

There were several positive aspects to this particular kidnapping, though. Elvynd, after several more hours of doubts and fear, was told that he was indeed important, something that reassured him greatly. Erestor was pleased that Elrond was not late for the council meeting and enjoyed himself trying to find out the dead kidnapper's identity. Elrond passed the next few months trying to come up with the perfect plan to keep his youngest son in the house and out of trouble while the twins were intensely pleased that their father was angry at their adopted brother and their friend. Glorfindel was happy about having been heroic once again.

And Tim and his men never again set foot anywhere where they could possibly meet elves or rangers.

Once was, in their often-voiced opinion, quite enough.

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The End.**

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_adan - human, man  
dúnadan - 'Man of the West', ranger  
ada - father (daddy)  
mellon nín - my friend  
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**_**Ah, so this is the end. In case you were wondering: Yes, I am insane. Thanks for asking. •g• Be that as it may, I hope you still enjoyed this story! I really cannot tell you when I will be starting to post "Visions of Betrayal", my next 'real' story, but don't expect it before the end of October/beginning of November. It depends on the flat and about a thousand other things, and I'm only getting back from Turkey on the 5th of October or so. Jack and I are going together, so we should have a lot of fun! For more news about the next story (i.e. more realistic and updated post schedules), please check my profile page. I will let you know as soon as I know anything myself.**

**Oh, one more thing: On Jack's instigation follows the complete "curriculum" of Abductology. At least of the first year. •g• She helped me compile it, so don't blame it all on me! We're weird, I know.**

**First Year: "How to handle the average abduction"  
_by Legolas Thranduilion, Prince of Mirkwood_**

**1. The importance of looking dashingly handsome in even the most stressful situation  
2. Bound riding for beginners  
3. The ten most important conversations everybody should have with their kidnappers  
4. How to get the evil maniac to share his nefarious plans  
5. How to convince the daughter/wife/niece/cousin/sister of the evil maniac to fall madly in love with you and help you escape  
6. How to convince the henchmen to help you escape. Convincing them to fall madly in love with you is only a last resort  
7. What tools to bring: spoon, brush, hairpin, small hidden knife, candle, paper and pen to make a map  
8. The transportation devices every self-respecting abductologist should know and how to use them during an escape  
9. The most effective methods of surviving the inevitable reunion with your father  
10. Top ten excuses for having been abducted in the first place**

**Don't ask. Just ... don't. •g•**

**I hope you enjoyed yourself; see you next story!**

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**Nili**

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Additional A/N: 

**My apologies to Mari (still! •g•), Lemuriangirl, Kalmiel (FF-net doesn't allow email addresses to be shown in a normal review, so I couldn't read it, sorry - again) and Errin (no email on the profile page). Since I am responding to reviews by email, I need your email addresses. So, don't forget to either make sure that you have your email address listed on your profile page or to leave your email address if you want to review anonymously!**

**Thank you and sorry for the inconvenience!**


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